Braving the Storm
by Godzillafan93
Summary: Yesterday morning a viral outbreak swept through the peaceful mountain community of Raccoon City, turning the sleepy town into a necropolis. Now a small group of survivors struggles to escape. Follows Into the Storm.
1. Busy Signal

**Braving the Storm**

_Less than 24 hours ago, the Tyrant virus, a lethal bioweapon illegally developed by the multi-national pharmaceutical corporation, Umbrella, was leaked into the thriving mountain community of Raccoon City, Colorado. Within hours, the city was overrun with violently aggressive infected citizens. The local police force was hopelessly outgunned and quickly ceased to be a fighting force, both due to poor leadership and the efforts of Umbrella agents still in the city. _

_Still, there are those who remain among the living, trapped in Raccoon City._

_Jill Valentine, a member of the RPD's elite Special Tactics and Rescue Service, continues on a trek through the living hell that has broken out in Raccoon City, no longer confident the skills she acquired a few months earlier at another biohazard will be enough to keep her alive._

_Billy Coen, an ex United States Marine wrongfully convicted of murder, is a dead man walking. Despite the assistant of STARS member Rebecca Chambers in covering up his escape, Billy knows he cannot leave Raccoon City. No matter what choices he makes, he faces almost certain death._

_Kevin Ryman, a survivor of the RPD's Select Police Force, finds himself thrust into a leadership position over a rag-tag group of survivors. He must be able to bring their conflicting personalities together, while dealing with his own self-doubt._

_Mat Dawson, one of the few members of the RPD's Special Weapons and Tactics unit, is lost and alone in the necropolis, stalked by a hideous Umbrella super weapon called Nemesis, hell bent on ensuring no one makes it out of Raccoon City alive._

_Elza Walker, a famous motorcyclist, finds her own route out of Raccoon City marred by betrayal. She now faces the unenviable position of trying to escape the city, while protecting Roy Jefferson, a friend and member of the RPD, who was attacked by Umbrella mercenaries. Slowly, as Raccoon City dies around her, she begins to lose hope._

_Rebecca Chambers, the sole survivor of STARS Bravo team, finds herself once again trapped in a nightmare she thought she'd left behind in the Arklay Forest. Despite all the chaos and death surrounding her, however, she begins to regain some of her faith, both in God and life itself._

_Carlos Oliveira, a member of Umbrella's elite Biohazard Countermeasures Service, finds himself cut off from his comrades, save Mikhail Victor, his badly wounded commanding officer. Slowly, he begins to learn a new definition of the term hazard pay._

_Yoko Suzuki, a student at Raccoon City's community college, finds herself casts adrift in the sea of madness overtaking the city. And as she survives trauma after trauma, memories she's long kept suppressed begin to resurface. Even if Yoko manages to escape, she has to wonder if she'll be the same person she was when the nightmare began._

_But while the drama has already started, not all the players are on the stage. Key actors still remain in the wings, players whose actions will determine the fate of thousands…_

Prologue: Busy Signal

(CLAIRE)

It was a bright, sunny day, the kind Claire Redfield enjoyed exponentially more when she didn't have class. Days like today, in other words.

She'd managed to get far enough ahead in most of her classes her professors had suggested she didn't even need to show up. Conveniently, those she had left didn't meet on Fridays, which meant she had her first totally free weekday in…longer than she cared to remember. She could do whatever she wanted, and right now, there wasn't anything the 19 year-old wanted to do more than hit the open road.

_Chris would flip shit if he saw me_ she realized. Her older brother had stepped up when their parents died, and while she had nothing but love for him, there were times when he still thought of her as the insecure twelve year-old she'd been when they were orphaned. Despite all of Chris's strengths (and Claire would be the first to point that they were many), he had a hard time accepting that people changed, that they didn't fit into his somewhat black and white view of the world. Most of the time, she didn't really mind, and while it annoyed her when it came to boyfriends, it didn't hurt any that Chris's opinions were usually spot on…not that Claire would've ever admitted it.

Here, though, Chris would probably have a right to cringe. Claire had loaned her leathers to a biker friend about a week earlier, not anticipating a three-day weekend, which meant today she was left to normal street clothes: a black t-shirt, her favorite vest, denim shorts, and leather cowgirl boots. If she flipped…_Well, I'll just have to make sure I don't_.

Claire studied her bike, taking in her baby. She loved the thing; it had cost her no small amount, and she'd had to save for two years, but the bike was the one thing in her life that was truly _hers_. She'd been sure to pay it off all at once; it was one of the few things she owned herself.

She slung her saddlebag over the back, just behind the seat. In it she'd already packed two changes of clothes, a little water, an ice pack, and a couple granola bars for if she felt like stopping for a bite.

She'd managed to forget her helmet, though, which was something Claire didn't usually do. She was always a stickler for that; it was one of her few biking habits Chris actually approved of. It also hadn't been something he'd had to drill into her.

No, all it had taken for Claire to develop this particular inclination had been watching Jessica Lopez skid her brains out when they were both still in high school. Jessica had been her best friend growing up; they'd been like sisters to each other. But Jessica had always been a risk-taker, a daredevil, while Claire tended to be more cautious. Jessica liked attention, while Claire preferred to be more low-key.

It was Jessica who'd gotten her into biking in the first place. She'd just showed up one day outside the house Claire shared with her brother, astride a big, blue and black Mitsubishi, and told her to hop on.

Claire had been in love with the feeling of the wind streaming through her red hair, brushing against her skin. She knew then why Chris loved to fly, and why he'd become so melancholy when he'd been kicked out of the Air Force.

But it had also been Jessica who'd showed Claire just how dangerous biking was if you didn't take it seriously. Jessica liked to show off, and her biggest flaw had always been not knowing her limits. Claire could still remember watching her best friend skid down the ride on her face at several dozen miles per hour, remember the streak of blood she left behind on the blacktop, and hoped it had ended quickly for her, but knowing it probably hadn't. She knew those memories would stay with her until the day she died.

With that in mind, it was surprising to her that she'd managed to forget her most important piece of equipment. Muttering to herself, she headed back upstairs, toward her dorm…only to find Jaime Woods standing on the top step.

Jaime looked worried. Of course, that was the ordinary state of affairs for Claire's roommate. Someone had once, somewhat unkindly, remarked that, when most people were shitting bricks over a situation, Jaime had to ramp her game up a little and shit whole castles. It wasn't very nice, but Claire found she had to agree with that assessment. It wasn't that she didn't like Jaime (she did); she just felt like her roommate usually needed to take a chill pill.

But somehow, Claire immediately knew whatever was up, this time it was serious.

Jaime was holding the cordless phone she and Claire had pooled their money and purchased last month. The thing was nice, except Jaime had threatened to smother her in her sleep if she didn't stop forgetting to put it back on the charger when she was done with it. Claire was a naturally scatter-brained person; it was easy for her to set something down…and forget she'd ever had it in the first place.

At first Claire was a little concerned this was going to turn into another phone etiquette lecture, but before she could head things off, Jaime dove right in. "I can't get through" she said abruptly.

"What are you talking about?" Claire asked, but Jaime didn't answer. She just thrust the phone at her.

"Listen" she instructed.

Claire held the phone to her ear, but all she got was a pre-recorded message. "We're sorry, but all circuits are currently busy. Please hang up and try again later."

"I don't understand."

"That's what happens whenever I try to call anyone" Jaime replied. Before Claire could ask for clarification, Jaime explained. "I tried to call my brother Roger. Today's his birthday. But I got that message. So I tried calling my parents. Same thing. Everyone I call from home, I can't get through to."

Jaime was from Raccoon City, Colorado, born and raised. It had been through her brother Roger, a sergeant with the Raccoon Police Department, that Chris had heard of the newly forming Special Tactics and Rescue Service teams out west, and left Wisconsin for the opportunity to make more money and do something worthwhile. Claire had never met Roger, but it had been nice of him to think of her ex-military brother and send a job his way.

"Everyone in Raccoon City?" Claire repeated.

Jaime nodded. "Yeah. It doesn't make any sense."

"Let me try" she said, pushing the END CALL button on the phone, then dialing Chris's number from memory. She held it up to her ear, relief momentarily chasing away her doubt when she heard the other line pick up. "Chris, are you-"

"Hello, you've reached Christopher Redfield. I'm not able to reach the phone right now, so if you'd be so kind as to leave a message, I'll get back to you as soon as I can."

Claire ended the call, shaking her head. She hadn't heard from her brother in a couple months, not since he'd mentioned prep-work for a mission into the surrounding forest…then gone totally silent. She'd forgotten how much she missed his voice.

"What are we going to do?" Jaime asked.

"There's something funny going on here" Claire replied. She stepped past Jaime, the other woman following her to their dorm. Claire reached around the door and pulled her helmet from its place on their shoe caddy, then tucked it under her arm. "I'm going to get to the bottom of it."

"I-I'll come with you" the normally timid Jaime volunteered.

Claire shook her head. "No, you've got class today. Besides, it's probably nothing. Just an issue with the local phone lines or something. I'm sure everything is fine, but I've been meaning to go see Chris anyway. Now I can kill two birds with one stone." She looked down at her watch. _If I really push things, I can be in Colorado by…seven PM. Wonderful_. She sighed, shaking her head. "I guess I know what I'm doing this weekend. I'll call you when I get in. Chris should know how to find your brother; I'll be sure to tell him happy birthday from you."

Jaime smiled, a rare but radiant one. "Thanks Claire. You're a good friend." She looked at the wall clock. "Crap. Sorry, but I've gotta go. Class started fifteen minutes ago. Drive safe!"

Claire nodded and smiled. "Thanks. You have fun while I'm gone, okay?"

"Sure thing!" Jaime called back, taking the steps two at a time. Claire was impressed she managed to not fall and break her neck, but then, Jaime was talented.

"Well, I better get going" she said quietly, turning to pull the door closed…then stopped when she saw the small, tan leather rectangle sitting on the table nearby. For reasons Claire couldn't quite explain, she leaned in and grabbed her knife, slipping its strap over her left shoulder before locking the door and heading back down to her bike.

Somehow, she had a feeling she might need it.


	2. The Long Goodbye

Part 1: Dawn

Chapter 1: The Long Goodbye

(ROY)

It seemed like it was getting brighter. Roy couldn't really tell; his vision was mostly red, pain shooting through his entire upper body, his legs numb, his arms going all tingly. He knew that was bad, but also knew there was very little he could do about it.

He remembered being shot, but he wasn't sure how long ago it'd been. He knew he'd passed out a few times, so it could've been a few days since the encounter with the men at the helicopter. He doubted it, though. A few days from now, probably more like a few minutes, he'd be dead.

Elza hadn't left him, all this time. She was apparently intent on dragging him through the streets to her motorcycle all by herself. Roy hadn't quite figured out what she intended to do after that, and he doubted she had either. It was just a reflex, her dragging him through the city, and one he was going to have to put a stop to if at least one of them was going to make it out of the city alive.

He didn't know where to start, though. His chest hurt; the bullet had missed his lungs (otherwise he would've drowned in his own blood), but it still made talking (or even breathing) uncomfortable.

Finally he just couldn't bear it anymore. "No" he coughed, shaking his head. "No…more…"

Elza stopped dragging him, panting heavily. This exertion was doing neither of them any good. Still, she wasn't ready to admit that. "Roy? What's the problem?"

"No…more" he repeated, painfully tilting his head to look up at her. "No…more. Please…"

"What…What are you saying?" Elza asked, disbelief in her voice.

"No more" Roy said again, a little more firmly, his teeth gritted in pain. "Please, Elza, no more. Please…just leave me here."

"No!" Elza snapped, standing back up. "No, we got into this together, and we'll get out of this together. I'm not leaving you behind."

"You…have to. It's the only way for both of us to make it out of this."

"But…I can't leave you here" Elza said slowly, tears running down her cheeks. "I can't do this alone. I _need_ you. We have to do this together."

Roy shook his head. Like everything else he did, it was a deliberate motion. "I'm…so…sorry, Elza. But…you _have_ to. I….We both know I'm done for. You've got to…leave me. Save yourself."

"Roy…"

"Please" he said desperately. "Elza…you have to do this…for me. I can't…let you die…not for me."

"I won't leave you here" Elza said firmly. He could tell her mind was set. _Stubborn girl_ he thought angrily. Then he had an idea.

"There" he said weakly, pointing to a squad car a few feet away. "Take me there."

Elza looked at the car, then at Roy and nodded. "Okay. Just hang on, okay?"  
The next few minutes were agony. Roy could see a small trail of blood leading from his back as Elza dragged him along. The abrasive asphalt continued to rub his back, not doing him any favors. It was a relief when they finally finished the fifteen foot journey to the car.

"Inside" he said weakly, tapping the door. Elza swung it open, then started to drag Roy inside, but he managed to painfully stand on his own, then climb into the back. He lay down in the back seat, stretched on the stained upholstery, then drew his Beretta and flipped it over, offering it grip first to Elza. "Here" he said. "Take it. I…don't need it anymore."

Elza looked from Roy to the handgun. "Roy…" she said again.

Roy managed a brief smile. His body was already feeling a lot more at ease. "Hey, don't worry. I'll be locked in. Totally safe. So take the gun. You'll need it more than me." He pointed to the driver's seat. "Any keys?"

Elza looked in the ignition, then shook her head. "No. Nothing."

_Crap. There goes the easy way._ "Elza…I'm sorry. I'm sorry it worked out like this."

"It's okay" she replied, giving him a big strained smile that was clearly faked. "I'm gonna go get my bike, find some help, then come back for you. I promise."

"Thanks" Roy said weakly. "You…you take care of yourself out there."

Elza smiled. "You too." The last he saw of her was when she shut the door, a smile on her face, moving quickly down the street.

Roy settled into the seat, his head back, eyes closed. He knew he was dead, had known for a while. It was just a matter of waiting for the end.

Slowly, blissfully Roy drifted off to sleep. He never woke.

Given what the cockroaches inside the car did to him, that was probably just as well.


	3. One Becomes Four

Chapter 2: One Becomes Four

(KEVIN)

Bullets tore up the pavement around Kevin as he sprinted down the street, squinting down the integrated sights of a G36 he'd liberated from a soldier who…wouldn't be needing it again. He fired a short three round burst into a window up ahead and was rewarded with an agonized cry as at least one of his bullets found a home. Unless, of course, the bastard was just playing dead. In which case, this was going to get ridiculous.

They were strung out along the street, spaced far enough apart that no opportunistic soldier with a machinegun could mow them all down at once. Still, they were getting hammered from all sides, and Kevin was beginning to doubt any of them would make it through the next few minutes.

One of the Umbrella mercenaries took a knee and fired one of his bizarre explosive darts through a window. There was a brief flash, a loud bang, and a bloody mist shot out. Kevin was pretty sure whatever the man had been shooting at was dead. It was a lot harder to fake being vaporized.

Kevin ducked behind a wall and checked his magazine. His assault rifle had come equipped not with the high-capacity double-drum, but the standard 30 round box magazine. The nice thing about the G36 was that its feed devices were transparent, allowing Kevin to see he had about ten shots left, after which the weapon would be empty.

He sighed, then vaulted over the low wall, landing on a smooth paved sidewalk, the kind that seemed to be some sort of zoning requirement for all the ritzy shopping districts in Uptown. He clicked his rifle over to semi, hoping to husband his remaining bullets until he could find more.

He dashed forward, scrambling up a small concrete barrier. He saw Lieutenant Mathison doing the same, firing his M14 one handed while he did, and was momentarily taken about by the ridiculousness of it.

The others were making their way up the street behind him. Kevin realized he and Chase had somehow found their way into the vanguard. The only friendly people ahead of them were Dustin and Karl, who flitted in and out of cover like the shadows cast by a candle in a haunted house. To his left he heard an M249 light machinegun open up, a muscular black man taking the weapon for a walk, firing from the hip, a big stogie dangling from his lips like something out of a bad Vietnam movie.

Kevin watched as more black-clad soldiers poured out of the surrounding buildings, and began to wonder if they were any safer in the rat's nest of Uptown then they had been back on Main Street with the freakish giant. The ambush he'd thought they'd left behind had apparently followed them; he was beginning to doubt anywhere in Raccoon City was safe.

Kevin watched the Umbrella soldier named Karl enter close combat with one of the faceless soldiers. Karl swung his G3 like a pro, snapping the man's head to the side and causing him to stagger back. Before he could recover, Karl double tapped him in the chest with the battle rifle, dropping the other man to the sidewalk with a surprised groan.

One of the other mercenaries was helping Dean Travers along. The man was dragging one leg behind him; Kevin remembered how he'd been shot during the last ambush, wounded apparently for the sole purpose of luring the others out of cover. Miraculously, he'd managed to escape further injury, but that didn't mean he was much good in this particular fight, armed as he was with a shotgun and 9mm handgun. He lacked the reach to hit anyone in the upper floors of the buildings.

Kevin saw David knee down beside the mortally wounded soldier Karl had shot and calmly loot his still warm body, snatching up two FN FAL magazines in addition to the battle rifle itself. When the dying soldier feebly tried to protest, David calmly flicked out his extremely illegal switchblade and slit the man's throat, before going back to what he'd been doing before he was interrupted.

There was a squeal of tires from up ahead, and Kevin looked up to see three big black armored vans swerve into the intersection, their gleaming bodies unmarked. The doors at the back swung open and still _more_ soldiers began to leap out, including a big one who looked like nothing more than Darth Vader carrying an RPD machinegun.

Darth Vader, machinegunner, opened fire, cutting down a pair of Umbrella mercenaries and Ivan Korsakov, one of the few remaining SPF officers. In retaliation, the Umbrella merc with the dart gun shot him in the shoulder. The resulting explosion knocked the big man off his feet, but didn't dent his armor.

_Holy shit_ Kevin thought, shooting another man twice in the chest as he dashed forward, firing an AK-74 from the hip. _We've got to get out of here._

Three more vehicles swerved onto the road, two more armored transports and a big flat bed truck with some sort of canon mounted on the back.

"This way!" Karl shouted, standing beside a staircase leading beneath the street and waving frantically, his G3 clutched in his left hand.

There was a rattling boom from the flatbed and a small antitank shell flew straight at him, throwing him into the side of a building. The turret mounted recoilless rifle swung around, firing more explosive shells into the frantically dashing survivors. Kevin saw Chase drop to one knee and double tap the soldier manning the weapon with his M14, knocking his body off the truck and causing him to land with a dull thud. He didn't get up again.

The Umbrella mercenary carrying the M249 got into an ill-advised duel with Darth Vader, realizing too late his armor was bulletproof. The enemy machinegunner cut down the man in a matter of seconds, spraying lead wildly.

Kevin, George, and Cindy sprinted over to Karl, who was coughing and staring at the sky in a daze.

"Karl, can you hear me?" Cindy was asking as she and George knelt beside him.

Karl didn't respond. There was blood running from his mouth, nose, and ears, and his eyes were unfocused; clearly he'd been stunned.

"We don't have time for this" Kevin said brusquely, motioning for George to help him lift the wounded man. "C'mon, let's go!"

Together, the three managed to drag the heavily armed man down the stairs, into the dark catacombs below. A second later, a shell struck the stairwell, causing it to collapse.

Kevin and George sat Karl down on a bench, then looked around. Kevin spotted Alyssa, Jim, Yoko, Mark, and David, plus Dustin. Along with he, George, and Cindy, that meant there were ten survivors down here with him. That meant the rest were still trapped up on the street. And with the stairwell collapsed, they had no way to help them.

Kevin turned to Jim. "You! Do you know where we are?"

Jim nodded slowly, studying the walls. "Uh…yeah…I _think_ this is the Uptown station. That'd make sense."

"Is there a track that leads out of the city from here?"

Jim nodded. "Yeah. And since the power's out, we shouldn't have to worry about the third rail. We can take the tracks, and we should be home free."

Kevin nodded slowly. "Great. Okay folks, let's all take five. Then we move."

"What about the others?" Yoko asked, pointing at the ceiling, where the sounds of gunfire were already dwindling.

Kevin shook his head. "There's nothing we can do. Maybe if we can find our way back to the surface, we can go looking for them. Otherwise, my priority is to make sure you all get out of here safely."

"So?" David asked, standing up, casually holding his newly policed FAL one handed. "Why are you in charge? I don't remember electing you to anything. _Officer_."

_Shit_ Kevin swore mentally. _Just what I need: a pissing contest with this asshole._

"Hold up" George said, raising his hands. "Officer Ryman here's the only authority figure we have. He's with the police. We've trusted him this far, and we're all still alive."

David shrugged. "Whatever. I don't give a fuck." He shook his head. "The city belongs to the Boogey Man anyway. It's pretty damn clear they don't want us around anymore." He turned and began to walk away. "I'll listen to you, _Officer…_for now."

(CHASE)

Chase saw Karl the Umbrella soldier take the recoilless shot and go airborne, and came to his own conclusions about getting off the street. He dropped to one knee, lined up the gunner's chest, and squeezed the trigger twice, the big M14 kicking hard into his shoulder as two 7.62mm rounds were propelled from the barrel into the man's chest. The gunner hadn't even hit the ground before Chase was back up and waving to the others. "Follow me!"  
He sprinted across the street, toward a building he knew for certain had enemy soldiers inside. Rita, Karen, and another patrolman named Long were right on his heels. Behind them were Rebecca, that pushy librarian lady, and her gaggle of kids, who'd somehow managed to come through this nightmare unscathed.

Chase braced his foot against the boarded up door and kicked as hard as he could, breaking timbers and watching it swing open wide. He brought the M14 to his shoulder, hunting for targets as adrenaline kicked in.

Breaching was always like this: time seemed at once to slow down and speed up; Chase could count his heartbeats, yet everything seemed faster. He fired the M14 without aiming, winging a solder who was charging forward and sending him crashing into a wall. He shifted targets and shot another sprinting down the stairs in front of him, the dead man rolling down the last few feet. He shifted again, this time managing to put a bullet through the skull of a man to his left, the man's mirrored helmet exploding from the impact of the .308 bullet.

Then the foyer was clear, and other officers swept into the building, and Chase had enough time to sling the battle rifle and switch to a better close quarters weapon. He yanked his Browning from its holster, flicking off the safety and gently pulling back the slide for a brass check, before turning to watch the way they'd come.

Rebecca took up a position opposite him, holding the Remington she'd managed to pick up God knew where. The children and Loretta the cranky lady filed in, looking absurd as they hurried in, not breaking ranks despite the bullets flying past them. Chase suspected it was because Loretta scared them more than the gunfire.

"Come on!" he shouted, waving to the Umbrella soldiers. Two broke from cover and tried to dash toward them. One went down immediately, a bullet slamming into his gut and spinning him in a circle. The other got within three feet before a round found his head, his skull exploding from the thin balaclava he wore. He dropped limply to the ground, his blue eyes shocked and wide.

Rebecca gagged, shaking her head, her face pale.

"Get back inside" Chase ordered, a second before bullets from the black-armored machinegunner stitched the wall above her head. Rebecca flinched, then did as she was told. Chase followed her, backing into the darkened foyer as the machinegunner continued to advance, firing his RPD from the hip.

"Clear!" Karen reported, swapping magazines in her UMP. Apparently a few other soldiers had tried to make a stand, but didn't fare so well against the police up close and personal.

"Get to cover!" Chase shouted. "We're about to have company!"

The machinegunner kept coming, firing his weapon from the hip, his bullets tearing into the building's thin walls. The Umbrella soldiers and police still on the street behind him kept firing, but their bullets didn't punch through his armor, and they had other problems, as more and more shooters kept pouring into the shopping district.

Chase unslung his M14 and opened fire, putting a round into the man's chest. The machinegunner staggered back, but his oddly shaped armor seemed to disperse most of the impact. The bullet didn't do much more than rock him back on his heels.

"He's coming in!" Rita shouted, firing her Browning at the soldier, her bullets having no discernable effect on him.

Chase pointed to her. "Get the kids upstairs. Things are gonna get ugly."

She nodded, then hurried over to Loretta.

Rebecca readied her shotgun, standing just inside the doorway. Chase hurried over and took a position opposite her again, slinging his M14 in favor of the Desert Eagle he'd taken from that traitor Michael Guthrie. The .50 magnum handgun would work better up close. He suspected he and Rebecca would only get off a few shots before the machinegunner cut them down. All the same, that was better than nothing.

The window in the next room shattered. Chase saw Karen tense and raise her UMP, then lower it immediately. "Friendly!" Billy the marine shouted.

"Hey, leatherneck!" Chase shouted. "Bring Thumper up here, and give this asshole a present!"

"Roget that" Billy replied, jogging forward with the M79. He dashed across the open doorway and fired the 40mm launcher from the hip, spinning back into cover next to Rebecca.

There was a dull thump, and an irritated groan from the soldier. "_Ebaka!_" he shouted.

"He's too close!" Billy called out. "The grenade didn't have time to arm."

"Shit" Chase growled. He reached down and grabbed a small blue cylinder off his vest. "Watch out, flash bang!" he shouted, hurling it blindly around the corner…only to have the flash grenade come rolling back inside. "_Motherfucker_…"

There was a blinding flash of light and a deafening explosion. Chase's world went white, then red as something slammed into him and threw him to the ground. Slowly his vision cleared, only for him to find himself staring at the wrong end of an RPD. The thought he expected to be his last was _Damn, this view _sucks…

Then the machinegunner staggered, like he'd been punched in the spine. Chase saw Rebecca standing almost right behind Darth Vader, pumping the shotgun again. She must've closed her eyes; she was temporarily deaf, but hadn't been blinded like the rest of them.

The soldier swung around and struck her with the barrel of his weapon, slamming Rebecca into the wall, causing her to drop her shotgun. He brought the weapon and squeezed the trigger, only to have the weapon click at him.

"_Chyort_" he muttered, calmly dropping the weapon's magazine and reaching for a fresh one. Billy tried to step in, but the soldier kicked him in the gut, then slammed the butt of his machinegun into the side of his head, knocking him out cold. Then the big man pulled the charging handle of his weapon, chambering a round and preparing to finish off the still dazed Rebecca.

Chase painfully climbed to his feet, then took a step forward and planted the Desert Eagle directly between the man's helmet and chest plate, at the cloth joint where his neck was. He fired the magnum one handed, the recoil killing his wrist, the bullet itself killing the soldier, who dropped like a stone. His finger tensed on the trigger, big machinegun rounds tearing through the building as he fell. Fortunately, everyone was either upstairs or flat on their back, so his reflex trigger missed.

Chase let out an explosive sigh and slumped to the floor. Outside, the battle raged on.

(DEAN)

He'd never learned the name of the mercenary dragging him along. He was white, American, and had a masterful gift for firing a fully-automatic rifle one handed, with varying degrees of accuracy. Still, it kept the enemy away, which Dean suspected was the purpose of the exercise.

The mercenaries carried a variety of weapons from all over the world, from NATO standard assault rifles to FN FAL battle rifles, and even a few knock-off Chinese Type 56s, the Ak-47 of the Far East. Then, of course, there was the explosive dart gun one merc carried. Dean had never seen anything like it, though he suspected it was the sort of weapon the Brady Campaign had nightmares about. Dean was just glad it wasn't pointed at him. He was also glad he wasn't in charge of finding ammo for these guys. They were a walking logistics headache.

The police were getting ahead of the mercenaries. Dean suspected it was because, aside from Chase Mathison and Kevin Ryman, everyone was carrying a pistol caliber weapon. The mercs had to do the log range heavy duty lifting.

As a result, they were getting cut to pieces. There had been about fifteen when they retreated off the main street and into Uptown. Now there were seven.

Dean saw one merc get blasted into the air by a rocket, then saw Kevin and George the doctor drag him into a subway tunnel. A few civilians and another merc followed. Another rocket struck the tunnel, sealing it. Five left

Dean watched the police enter a building. He saw two mercs try to follow and get cut down. Three left.

The machinegun soldier waddled into the building. Dean heard a few small arms shots, then a long burst of automatic weapons fire and silence. The police were done too.

"Ah, fuck this!" snapped the merc shouldering Dean along. "I've seen this movie!" He shouted to the man carrying the big dart gun. "John, we've got to get off the road!"

"John" was a somewhat rotund, barrel-like man with a shaved head visible because like most of the mercs he eschewed a helmet, crooked teeth, and a nose which had clearly been broken several times. He also had a thick Cockney accent that sounded at once comical and slightly insane, which somehow went perfectly with his weapon of choice. "Y'know," John said, leaning up against a car, the arm he'd mounted the dart gun on clutched tightly to his chest, "ya moit be onta somethin' there." Without waiting for a response, he turned and fired a dart into the tightly locked door of a shop to their left. There was a faint beeping noise, then a loud explosion as the dart went off, making a hole through which he frantically beckoned. "C'mon!"

"Don't need to tell _me_ twice" muttered the man shouldering Dean, who awkwardly scuttled forward, into the dark façade. That left the only other soldier still outside, firing an M16A4 wildly in all directions.

"C'mon, bitches!" he shouted, his burst-fire assault rifle throwing lead in all directions. "C'mon! Get some!"

"Mac, let's _go_!" John shouted, eyes wide. "There'll be plenty a' time ta kill the bastards _later_!"

Mac, the third man, didn't seem interested in listening at first. He kept firing, casually changing magazines in his weapon when it ran dry.

The soldier who'd been carrying Dean, whose name he still didn't know, rolled his eyes. "Can you fight?" he asked Dean tersely.

Dean nodded. "Yeah. Just don't expect me to go anywhere."

"Great" the other man said, sitting him down and clapping him on the shoulder. "Anybody not me, John, or Mac comes through that door, you blow 'em away. Got it?"

"Yeah" Dean replied, but the other man had already sprinted into the street.

Dean readied the SPAS-12, resting it awkwardly in his lap, where he could blast anyone running through the front door. He heard a muffled groan from outside immediately after an abrupt stop to Mac's shooting, and then John was hurrying back inside, the nameless man dragging the over zealous mercenary behind him.

John looked around at the three men he now shared a building with. "This it?" he asked, somehow managing to make that sentence sound like it was one word.

The nameless mercenary nodded slowly. "Yeah."

John's opinion of the situation was at once creative and foul, so much so that Dean was quite impressed despite himself, and pledged he'd learn to swear that…artistically before he died. Given the way Raccoon City was, he suspected he'd better learn fast.

"Wot _aboot_ Carlos?" he asked.

The nameless man shook his head.

John proved he hadn't exhausted his store of exotic swear words.

"We shoulda been out there with 'em!" Mac shouted, angrily, pointing back out on the street. "Better dyin' out there than hidin' in here."

John fixed him with a glare. "Ya wanna go back out there, Lewis 'n me won't stop ya."

Mac blanched a little, but didn't back down. "Well, we coulda called for air support or somethin'. Got some back up."

John shook his head. "Ya don't get it, do ya? Those fuckers out there, the ones shootin' at us. They get their pay checks the same place we do."

"What?" Dean and Mac asked at roughly the same time.

John nodded. "Yeah. We just almost got bushwhacked by an Umbrella Security Service team. Maybe two."

"Why…why would they do that?" Mac asked.

Lewis, the previously nameless man, glanced out the window. "Gentlemen, maybe we oughtta relocate to another venue if we want to continue this discussion" he said nervously. "The…uh…staff here are coming this way. I suspect they're going to ask us to leave."

John nodded. "_Roit. _Lewis, pick up our police officer friend, and let's get a move on. Out the back, quickly!"

Dean stood up painfully on his own, daggers of fire shooting through his leg, but no more blood flowing. Rebecca had done a good job bandaging it up, and he reminded himself he'd need to thank her…before reminding himself he'd just seen her get killed. He was very likely the last member of the RPD left.

_And how long is that gonna be?_ he wondered as they set off.

(CARLOS)

Carlos Oliveira had managed to sniff out the trap and avoid it. Unfortunately, stuck at the back of the column, encumbered with Lieutenant Mikhail Victor, who he'd rescued from one of the armored vans in the confusion, he'd been in no position to warn anybody else about it. He and his officer had survived, but it was very likely no one else had.

Now he and Victor were hunkered down in a tram car. The windows were still intact, and there were barricades all around it, so it was a good place to hole up against both the living and undead.

Unfortunately, the tram's engine was in pieces all around the front of it. Carlos had some mechanical expertise (growing up in the _favela_, the horrible Brazilian shanty towns, had taught him that). Still, this was a job that would take him hours, and he was still missing several key components, which were gone for reasons he couldn't explain. There was no battery, for example. And no oil. Carlos had strong, thoroughly reasoned opinions of that, which he voice loudly in his native Portuguese, as well as the Spanish he'd been picking up and adopting since joining the UBCS. Both were fun languages to swear in.

Still, Carlos knew he had to buckle down. He'd burn the bridges ahead once he got to them, but first things first.

He slung his M4 across his back. "Let's get to work" he muttered in English.


	4. F cking Run

Chapter 3: Fucking Run

(MAT)

Everything was red and orange. The early morning sky. Mat's vision. The flames encircling him and the Umbrella monster. It cast everything in a hellish glow, which seemed fitting to Mat, since he felt like he was in hell himself.

He saw Billy retreating into the distance. He found himself hating the man less and less, his emotions tied to how much he was around the former marine. Now he actually hoped the other man got away, because he genuinely didn't want him dead, not just because it meant there'd be someone to look out for Rebecca.

Rebecca was another kettle of fish, an emotional thicket which had already dulled his proverbial machete. He didn't know quite what to think of her anymore. She was definitely his friend, he definitely cared about her, but did he really feel more than that, or was it just constant adrenaline coupled by the fact that they'd both almost died several times in the last twenty-four hours that had pushed him to kiss her? He wasn't sure, but he did know it had been a mistake. It had been selfish of him to do that to Rebecca, especially since he was about to die himself. No need to add extra grief to her already traumatized life…

The monster, the one the enemy soldiers had called Nemesis, began to stalk toward him, apparently convinced Billy was out of its range. Or, as Mat had told Rebecca, it wasn't concerned with any other survivors; just those who'd been in the mansion back in July.

The monster stomped past the crumpled and burning armored truck Billy had dropped on it, the words KNIGHT GUARDS, behind an armored raccoon with an impudent grin wielding a broad sword, still visible on the twisted metal. The thing had had a vehicle weighing at least a ton (probably more, since Mat sucked at estimation) dropped squarely on top of it, but kept coming. Mat had to wonder if anything _could_ kill the beast.

The monster raised a huge weapon with one hand, a minigun at least three feet long with eight separate barrels arranged on something akin to a merry-go-round of death. Slowly the creature wrapped its other, corpse-like paw around a carrying handle at the top of the weapon, the barrels beginning to spin.

"STARS" the thing growled, its voice a deep, throaty bass.

_Damn thing doesn't even know who I am_ Mat realized numbly, watching the creature level the weapon. Maybe Umbrella had just programmed the thing to chant the affiliation of its primary targets. Maybe the company itself didn't know he was with SWAT. Or maybe the Nemesis was just stupid. In any case, it didn't matter to Mat, since he knew he was about to be dead.

Then something caused his legs to spontaneously give out, and Mat found himself flat on his back. Less than a second later, the minigun, with a roar akin to somebody tearing God's bed sheets, ripped through the space he'd just vacated. The Nemesis growled angrily and started making its way toward him, the minigun still spinning.

A thought suddenly appeared in Mat's head, shocking for its abruptness and content. _Are you out of your mind? Fucking _run!

Mat looked down at his belt. It was the same web gear he carried when he was in a SWAT operation, so it included a host of things most normal cops lacked, such as a knife sheath…or three flash-bang grenades in their pastel blue duct-tape wrappers.

Mat pulled one without thinking, hooking his thumb into the pin and jerking it free, before lobbing it one handed at the advancing Tyrant. The beast ignored the grenade as it rolled forward…then let out a surprised howl when it went off, a loud bang and a brilliant flash that left it blind and stunned.

Mat jumped to his feet, the monster less than ten feet away, stumbling at little, the minigun still spinning. He had the perfect shot at the dazed Tyrant, which couldn't defend itself, but didn't fire. He remembered how much punishment the other Tyrant had taken, how this one had survived having an armored car dropped on it, and decided his best course of action would be to…fucking run.

He turned and sprinted down a side alley. He heard an angry roar from behind and the rapid stamp of the creature's huge boots as it pursued him into the tight space. He needed to slow the thing down, and do it quickly…

He found his answer a moment later: a dull red barrel sitting in a half open garage. Quickly Mat grabbed the container, shoved it onto its side, and kicked it forward, back down the alley. Then he drew his Colt and followed it. This was going to be tricky, but if it didn't work, he was probably screwed anyway.

The Nemesis ignored the barrel right up until Mat shot it, the gas inside going up like a roman candle. The monster staggered back as burning fuel splashed across its face, taking one hand off its minigun to rub at its singed face. The weapon itself caught fire, the already hot metal melting together. With an infuriated bellow, it threw the useless Gatling gun away and rushed forward. But Mat was already gone.

He ducked back under the door, dashing frantically through the garage and into the tiny office with its ancient vending machines and old copies of _National Geographic_, the same everywhere in the US. He heard the sound of something ripping through the garage door, followed by an angry bellow and rapid, huge thumping footsteps.

He spotted his exit, a large window with the garage's name mirrored on it in peeling yellow stickers. He knew jumping through the large window would hurt, knew he'd have to shoot it out, knew he was going to need to hoard his 5.7mm ammo, and dropped the P90, its strap catching the PDW at his waist, the small submachine gun thumping against his legs as he drew the Colt and fired four times into the glass, the .45 finally making enough cracks to shatter. He didn't even slow down, leaping into the cascade of falling glass dust which sprinkled to the sidewalk like snow. He rolled, feeling the glass fragments crunch on his shoulder, grateful he still had on his jacket since otherwise the shards would've filleted him, then was back on his feet, holstering his Colt and switching back to the P90, still not loosing any of his steam as he sprinted down the street.

He kept running down the block, his ears alert for the noise of the hideous beast following him, but after a few moments of near silence, he let out a mental sight of relief and slowed down a little, his breath coming more raggedly.

Then, Mat heard a noise from inside the building next to him, a brick and mortar establishment with a large sign reading HIDEKI OTOMO FOR US SENATE. Mat remembered Otomo's campaign, mainly because he was a bleeding heart libertarian of the loud variety, and because many of his posters informed the world he was running for U..S. Senate. Mat suspected, if he was going to elect a representative to his nation's chief legislative body, he wanted it to be someone who could actually _spell_ that nation's name, or at least abbreviate it correctly.

Mat's displeasure with Otomo's spelling issues were a moot point, though, because, as if guided by some malevolent sixth sense, the Nemesis monster plowed through the wall, bellowing like a demon the only word it seemed to know. Mat ordinarily wouldn't have been inclined to be picky, since most Umbrella monsters couldn't speak at all (except Marcus, who by Rebecca's account couldn't be made to shut up), but all the same, the whole "STARS" bit was getting kind of old, especially since it wasn't quite the catch-all whoever the Nemesis's speech-therapist had been seemed to think it was.

"Holy shit!" Mat exclaimed, raising the P90 and firing a burst into the monster's face, his bullets actually causing the thing to stumble, if only a little. Then, with a bellow that seemed, if anything, even more furious, the monster charged, its huge paws balled into tight, basketball-sized fists.

Mat turned and ran again, trying to get as far from this Hulk Hogan-sized bloodhound. When he'd originally decided to lead it away from the others, force it to choose who it wanted to kill more, himself or Rebecca, he'd anticipated being able to shake the monster off at some point. Rapidly it was becoming apparent he'd have to man up and kill the thing, and soon, before it tired him out.

He ran into the street, sliding across the hood of a Ford Taurus like something from the _Dukes of Hazard_, the seat of his pants making a rather obscene squeaking noise as he did so. The Nemesis was hot on his heels, shoving the sedan aside in its fervor to get at him. He heard the car's front end crunch as the monster flipped it over, bellowing loudly as it charged. Mat didn't even slow down, knowing he wouldn't get away if he stopped for a few more potshots. Instead, he kept going, clutching his PDW to his chest like a linebacker at the Super Bowl.

He rounded a corner…and froze, his eyes going wide at the sight of literal wall-to-wall zombies all crowded into the gap. Slowly, stupidly, the infected turned their shark-eyed stares in his direction, a few at the front moaning, their cries seeming to egg the others forward. Mat clicked his weapon over to semi-auto, prepared to take aim…and realized there was no way he'd be able to shoot his way through this mess.

Instead, he tried another approach. Head down, arms tucked in at his sides, elbows slightly out, he rushed forward, running straight at the crowd like a charging rhino.

The infected seemed genuinely surprised to have food so readily rush into their midst, cold, dead hands reaching for him, trying to pull him into gaping, waiting mouths. Mat kept going though, careful to maintain his speed, shoving infected aside. Soon he was inside the mob, feeling as if he'd been squeezed into a rotten, festering JELL-O mold. Still, he was making good time, and for a moment he thought he might actually make it.

Then, he lost his balance, staggering forward in something approximating a drunken hop, hands splayed to catch himself, only there wasn't anything to catch himself on, and Mat rolled to the street, his momentum carrying him into the confusing mass of debilitated and rapidly decaying legs of the mob.

Mat kept rolling on his side, trying to keep himself going, trying to stay one step ahead of the drunken, numb fingers reaching for him, the wide glazed eyes set into face which lean forward, looking almost puzzled, curious at the young man rolling on the ground amongst them.

He kept going right up until his shoulder hit the bottom step of an apartment building, the infected forming a small ring around him. Realizing he had nowhere else to go, Mat rolled onto his back and, using his elbows, began to crawl up the steps like a crab. With one hand he reached down and pulled out the Colt, shooting the nearest zombie in the head, splattering its brain matter on the three infected standing just behind it. They flinched back a little, blood and pinkish-gray flesh slapping against their faces like paint. Mat shifted his aim and fired again, putting down a second zombie, this one an older woman, who simply dropped like a puppet whose strings had been cut, the others stepping over her suddenly still body, their feet quickly becoming stained with her blood.

Mat shot a third zombie, who fell back, stricken, on his fellows, his glazed, dilated eyes seemingly focused on the new hole that had just appeared in his forehead. The others ignored the newly stilled corpse, their continued momentum pushing it forward, where it landed at Mat's feet.

Mat tried to fire again, but his weapon simply clicked at him. He looked in horror at the slide, locked back, the barrel and gas tube sticking out like a tongue, as if the weapon was being impudent, although Mat wasn't sure who that was directed at: himself or the zombies.

He dropped the empty magazine onto the steps, frantically patting at his belt for a spare. He found two Browning mags for the HP he gave to Maddie a few hours earlier, then had to give up his search to kick out at a zombie that simply lunged forward, mouth gaping wide to take a bite out of Mat, apparently not choosey as to what part of him it devoured first.

Mat planted his foot on the thing's chest, propelling it through the air, sending it flying, arms spread, like a child playing airplane. With a loud crunch it struck the big oaken doors of the apartment, wood splintering as the impact forced them open.

"That'll work" Mat said as he scrambled to his feet. He paused to kick a zombie down the steps, dropping the infected into what was quickly becoming a mosh-pit. He could see the Nemesis, wading head and shoulders above the crowd, like a beleaguered parent come to claim their children at the ball pit. Except, most parents didn't snap the necks of any children who got in their way with their bare hands.

Mat shoved a new magazine into the Colt, flicking his wrist to unlock the slide. Then he holstered the pistol, readied the P90, turned, and ran back into the apartment building, desperate to get as far away as he possibly could.

He kicked open a dark green metal door at the back, which had been hanging slightly ajar, waving in the light breeze on its rusty hinges. Mat thought about activating the P90's flashlight, but chose otherwise. The light would just give away his position, as well as ruining his night vision.

He sprinted down the alley, careful to watch any especially dark shadows for any infected possibly lurking within. Then, he heard a sound he never wanted to again, a sound he'd last heard in the tunnels beneath the mansion: a rapid drumming, like the sound of someone rapping the tips of their fingers on a hard surface. Except Mat knew the sound couldn't be someone's hand, because people's hands weren't big enough to make that much noise, and because most people's hands didn't have eight digits.

The Web Spinner, the name Rebecca said Umbrella had given to its giant spider series of BOW, was just as big as Mat remembered the one underneath the mansion being. This one was a little hairier, though, its legs longer and segmented. It had big, orange patters on its huge abdomen, which got larger the farther away from the center they got. Orange-tinted hair clung to its legs as well.

Mat remembered the monster from beneath the mansion, remembered what a massive pain to kill it had been, and decided he wouldn't be having any of it this time. As the monster bug reared up on its four rear legs, the two front most raised up in what looked like a fighting stance, Mat spun around and kicked it as hard as he could, his boot striking its head and flipping the spider onto its back. It lay there, its eight hair legs flailing wildly as it tried to right itself.

Mat raised his foot again and brought it down on the monster's abdomen. The huge, pus-filled sack exploded like a giant, pudding-filled balloon, sticky gore splashing the legs of Mat's blue RPD cargo pants. He let out a disgusted grunt, yanking his foot free, just as almost three-dozen little spiders (little being a relative term, since the new monsters were about the size of his fist) scattered from their mortally wounded parent. Mat ignored them, continuing his trek down the alley, feeling a few of the juvenile spiders' bodies pop under his boots.

He heard a roar from somewhere behind him, and knew the Nemesis was gaining on him, its heavy footfalls getting closer and closer. He could see the street ahead, looking relatively clear, and put on another burst of speed, his sides aching from exertion. Maybe if he could get out of this alley, he could ditch this thing…

The zombie caught him by surprise. It was as if the thing was waiting for him, just outside the edge of the alley. Without warning it lurched out, grabbing Mat's shoulders, rearing its head back to take a bite of his neck, its mouth open wide.

Mat reacted immediately, adrenaline fueling his actions. He slammed his elbow into the thing's throat, causing to gurgle for a moment in confusion, then slapped its wrist, causing it to let go of his shoulders. Mat grabbed a handful of the infected man's bushy, yellow-grey hair, and shoved him face first into the brick wall, then grabbed the man's shirt and propelled him down the alley, into the path of the Nemesis.

The zombie collided with the slightly more mobile version of the brick wall it had encountered earlier, and moaned piteously, some sixth sense apparently telling it the Tyrant wasn't good to eat. It started to turn around, but the Nemesis flattened it with a mighty swing of its tree trunk like arms, slamming the infected into the close walls of the alley, its head splattering open, blood dripping down the much stained bricks.

Mat turned and ran back down the street. There were a few other solitary infected stumbling around, most giving him the wide-eyed look of stoned-confusion, the same stare he'd seen on sharks in an aquarium. He brushed past them all, hearing the Nemesis tear down the street after him, shoving infected aside if they even seemed to _think_ of getting in its way.

Ahead Mat saw a stack of 2x4's, whose purpose he couldn't fathom, but whose presence allowed him the chance of vaulting onto a second floor fire escape located just above. Maybe if he could get off the street, the thing would eventually give up.

Mat ran full-tilt, his head down, arms pumping at his sides. He reached the wood, nimbly leapt up, and was jumping again, the fire escape just within reach, when the wood below him shifted and he found himself falling back down, the fire escape pulling away.

Then a hand reached down and grabbed his wrist, and Mat found himself hanging suspended in midair, staring into the face of the _last_ person he expected to find.

"Hang on!" Brad Vickers shouted, trying to pull Mat up onto the balcony, but not quite possessing the arm strength to do so. Mat ended up helping himself out, grabbing bars and working his way up.

"Thanks" he said breathlessly, his shoulders heaving.

"Not a-oh God!" Brad exclaimed, his eyes going wide, his mouth gaping open.

Mat spun around to see the Nemesis standing just below them, its eerily sightless eye seeming to fix on him, its lipless jaw clinched over its sickly red gums in a silent snarl, its shoulders still heaving.

"What. Is. That?" Brad asked, his eyes not leaving the Tyrant.

"Remember the monster we fought on the roof back in July?" Mat asked. Brad nodded. "Well, this is the advanced, hunter-killer version."

"Hunter…_killer_?" Brad gulped, his face pale. "What's that mean?"

Mat began to answer, but the Nemesis spoke for itself. "STARS" it growled in its diaphragm, which had to be at least eight feet deep to accommodate such a bass voice.

"What. The. Fuck!" Brad said, his breath coming quickly, his shoulders heaving frantically.

"C'mon" Mat said, taking the other man's shoulder. "He's big and tough, but I doubt he can get us up here. Let's go inside, before he figures out he could probably knock this thing down."

Numbly, Brad Vickers nodded, his face still pale. He pointed to an open window, motioning for Mat to step inside first, then following. Below them, the Nemesis remained fixed on the building. Then, with a loud bellow, it spun on its massive, leather-studded heel and stalked away.


	5. What a Day May Bring

Chapter 4: What a Day May Bring

(JILL)

"Why don't you two stay here, while I scout ahead?"

Those words had a lot of sense to them. They were the sort of words Jill would've used when talking to the Russos, the two civilians she'd managed to keep alive since before dawn. It was a logical suggestion, since Jill had experience with this sort of situation, while they didn't.

But it wasn't Jill talking. In fact, it was taking a great deal of Jill's self control to keep her mouth shut.

Dario Russo knelt down beside his daughter. "I'll be back soon. I promise."

She didn't say anything. She just nodded slowly.

Finally Jill couldn't contain herself any more. "Are you out of your mind? You're going up there alone?"

Dario smiled stupidly, rolling up his shirtsleeves. "I'll be fine."

"But you don't even have a weapon!" Jill pointed out, standing up.

Dario put his hands on her bare shoulders. Jill immediately flinched away, but he held on. "I'll figure something out, doll. Just stay here with Rosa, 'kay?" He turned to leave.

_That _sent Jill right over the edge. To be more precise, it was an excuse for Jill to jump over that edge herself. "The fuck is-"

She felt a hand on hers. She looked down, to see the girl staring at her, eyes wide. She shook her head slowly, mouthing one word: _please_.

"Look, I'll call if I need help, alright?" he said over his shoulder. "These things aren't too bright. I'll be fine." Without waiting for a response, the rotund man left the small warehouse they'd taken cover in.

Jill turned to the girl. "Now, what was that all about?"

Her name was Rosa Russo, which seemed like an unfortunate name to Jill, but being someone who'd had to go through middle and high school with a name like Jillian Valentine, she found she really didn't have a right to criticize anyone else for the choices they made when naming their children.

Rosa didn't meet her eyes. "I…I don't want to be left here with him."

"What do you mean?" Jill asked, an edge coming into her voice as she silently begged Dario to give her a reason to shoot him.

"Nothing…just, I always feel guilty when we're together."

"Guilty?"

Rosa still didn't meet her eyes. She just shook her head. "I…I don't want to talk about it."

Jill could tell the girl was uncomfortable. All the same, she didn't have time for coddling. "That's not good enough for me to let your dumbass father run off to get himself killed. So you'd better give me a better reason _right now_, or I'm going to get him and bring him back."

"I…We…He wouldn't be here, but for me" she managed finally.

"What do you mean?" Jill wasn't piecing things together, but that might've been because, at the moment, she felt like she was doing an upside-down jigsaw puzzle.

"We're here in the city for…a modeling gig I got with Umbrella, back in July" Rosa explained. "They needed a spokes…girl for some new products they're supposed to be rolling out this year."

"Guess they think they can make zombies sexy…"Jill muttered.

Rosa looked at her in confusion. "What?"

"Skip it. You were saying?"  
Rosa shook her head. "We're here because of me. He wouldn't be in this mess, except for me! His life is ruined _again_ because of _me_!"

"Again?"

"First mom, now this…" Rosa wasn't listening. Tears were forming in her eyes and she was shaking her head. Finally, she let out a scream. "The world would be better without me!" She turned and ran in the other direction.

"Hey, wait!" Jill shouted, reaching for her, grabbing her arm.

But Rosa was ready. She turned and swung her forearm at Jill's head. Jill took a step back, ducking, letting go of Rosa's arm. Those freed, Rosa turned and ran from the building.

"Shit!" Jill swore, taking off after her. "Hey, wait!"

Rosa was faster than Jill, though, and ducked underneath the half open garage door, sprinting away down the street. Jill followed, drawing her Samurai Edge when she saw a dim shape crunching forward from an alley as she ran past. _Fucking teenagers_ she swore silently. _I'm gonna kill her myself, I _swear…

She saw another dark shape sprinting along the roof. A familiar, low slung, reptilian shape, with a loping stride and long, monkey-like arms with a sharkish snout. _Oh God_ Jill realized. _Not a hunter._

She quickened her pace. She had to get to Rosa now, because even if she was being a pain in the ass hormonal teenager, _no one _deserved to be killed by a hunter. _Except maybe Wesker_ she amended.

Rosa had slowed down, carefully picking her way down a steep slope. At the bottom was a chain link fence. Jill could hear a familiar loping sound, rapid, deliberate footsteps approaching from the left. She could just see the hunter emerging from the shadows, the early morning sun glinting off its dozens of sharp fangs.

"Get down!" she shouted to Rosa. The girl spun to face her, a look of confusion on her face, which quickly became a scream as Jill slammed into her, knocking her off her feet.

Jill let herself slide down the hill, dislodging rocks as she and Rosa rapidly descended. She felt gravel scratch at her bare legs and grimaced as she felt blood begin to flow. Then she saw the fence looming closer, and raised one boot.

Her heel caught the bottom of the fence, their combined momentum bending the fence forward, away from them. She and Rosa slid underneath, safely on the other side of the barbed wire. The hunter sprinted after them, shrieking loudly. With a terrific leap, it cleared the fence, landing on the other side with them.

"Shit" muttered Jill. "I really thought that'd work."

Rosa looked at her, eyes wide. Her face had gotten pretty badly scraped up on their ride down the slope. "Now what?"

Jill hauled her to her feet. "Run!"

(DEAN)

For the third time in the past hour, John raised his left fist over his head, dropping down to one knee. Obediently, Mac and Lewis followed suit. Unfortunately, that meant Dean had to as well, and unable to distribute his weight between both legs, that was somewhat more difficult.

"Do you hear that?" he asked, half tilting his head.

Dean strained his ears along with everyone else, and _yes_, he did hear something. Faint…but definite. Gun fire. Short cracks, so something semi automatic, and not very loud, so probably a mid sized handgun round, meaning either a pistol or SMG. And it wasn't very far away.

"Let's go" John said, standing up. "Double time." Without waiting for an answer, he sprinted off down the street.

Mac followed, matching his pace easily. Lewis followed, too…but not keeping up by any stretch of the word.

"Hey guys?" he called out. "I don't think we're gonna be rushing any time soon."

The others slowed, then turned.

"_Damn_" muttered John. "Sorry, I forgot all about our friend the cop." He turned and walked over to Dean. "Here, Lewis, set 'im down." He looked over at Mac. "Ya got the stims?"

The younger man nodded, pulling a small bottle from a pouch on his left side. "Yeah. Never go anywhere without 'em."

"Great" said John, unscrewing the lid and dumping a pill out, before offering it to Dean. "Here, take this. It'll make ya feel better."

Dean looked at it skeptically, then at John. "What is it?" he asked. He remembered what he'd learned about Umbrella, and wasn't especially excited about ingesting anything one of their soldiers gave him.

"It's called Safesprin" John explained. "It's just a pain med, buddy. Nothin' to worry about." He rolled the pill around in his hand.

Dean still wasn't convinced. "How is this going to help me?"

John rolled his eyes. "It's pain meds, okay? Just swallow the bastard; it'll make ya feel better."

Dean looked from the pill to the men surrounding him. It didn't look like he had much of a choice. Before he had the chance to talk himself out of it, he took the pill and dry swallowed it.

The taste was…pretty bad. Safesprin didn't have a coating the way a lot of pills did. Dean suspected this wasn't a commercially available version, like an early trial or something. It was bitter and cloying and salty, all at the same time, and he had to fight not to gag, but managed to choke the thing down.

Then a sudden wave of numbness washed over him, and Dean felt like he was floating on nothing. All the pain in his leg seemed to fall away, the stench of burning flesh and decay suddenly hidden behind an invisible wall. "What…what did you just give me?" he managed, his eyes wide.

John laughed, a slightly oily chuckle. "Well, partner, that's the shit right there. It's non-habit forming, although how in the hell it isn't is beyond me. It'll keep ya going for the next few hours. Trust me."

Dean stood up, brushing himself off. It felt good to be vertical on his own, yet again, and he smiled slightly, hefting his trusty SPAS-12. "Now what?"

"Now we get to work" said Lewis, unslinging his M4. He ejected the magazine, checked its load, then shoved it back into place. "You ready to go save some folks?"

Dean nodded, pumping the SPAS. "Yeah. I'm sick and tired of this shit. I'm ready to start hitting back."

"Good" said John. "Stay with Mac up front. Help us navigate this place." He shook his head, looking around. "Whoever designed this city should be shot. Seriously. Wot the fuck?"

Dean, who had a hard time finding his way around the RC himself, was inclined to agree. Still, he'd probably be better off navigating for their merry little group than someone who'd never actually been here before.

He turned to the soldier named Mac. "You ready?"

The other man nodded.

"Good. Let's go."


	6. Journeys in the Dark

Chapter 5: Journeys in the Dark

(Yoko)

The pounding had subsided since they'd gone underground, she found. It was still there, but it was…muffled was the best way to put it. Quieter, but not the same as quiet. Still, Yoko could function, and for the moment, that was enough for her.

They were making their way through the subway tunnels, following Officer Ryman, and the whiny guy named Jim. Yoko hadn't much cared for him at first, but she'd found him to be pretty friendly the more she talked to him, and if he could get them all to safety, she knew she was going to feel guilty about having judged him.

That said, she wasn't particularly happy about the route they were taking. Underground, her head wasn't pounding, but she didn't feel any safer. There was something…watching them. And it wasn't doing it just for the fun of it.

Alyssa was keeping close to her, still clutching the handgun the police had given her. David was sticking around as well, walking off to the side, the big rifle he'd looted from a dying soldier held diagonally at his chest, the barrel aimed at the ground. He handled the weapon like someone who'd had practice.

Alyssa kept glaring back at him. Yoko hadn't figured out why she'd taken an instant dislike to the man, but she had. Had Yoko been anyone else, she would've said something about it. But Yoko was Yoko, hated conflict, and was willing to let things go.

Their little ragtag group was strung out along the railroad tracks, plodding along in the darkness. They'd left the station about fifteen minutes ago, by Yoko's best estimation, but she didn't know how long it'd be until they reached the next one.

Jim and Officer Ryman were up front. Yoko could hear them quietly talking to each other, although she couldn't make out what was actually being said. A little ways back were George and Cindy, neither one talking, except when Cindy inevitably tripped over something unseen and he had to help her along. Yoko, Alyssa, and David were behind them. A little ways behind them, and bringing up the group's rear, were Mark, Dustin, and Karl. Karl leaned heavily on Dustin's shoulder, and Mark had volunteered to stay with them.

"No way anybody's getting' left behind" he'd said when Dustin asked why.

Yoko could see something looming up ahead, in the darkness. Slowly its shape resolved itself: a train, sitting dark and deserted on the tracks.

"What the hell?" David muttered, quickening his pace to get a better look.

Jim and Kevin were stopped, talking back and forth. Kevin pointed to the car, but Jim shook his head, pointing down the tunnel. "I don't know where it came from. This isn't anywhere near my station. I don't even know where we are at this point."

"What do you suggest we do, then?" Kevin asked. "Just keep wandering around down here blindly? That won't work, and you know it."

"We have a better chance down here than up there!" Jim shouted back. He was shaking, and Yoko could tell he was tired of being bullied. "You saw what happened just like me! Fuckin' zombies, fuckin' commandoes! No _way_ am I goin' back up there. If you want to, you go on your own. Count me out."

"Okay, fine. We can't go back up on the streets…in this area. But we can't get rescued down here either. Sooner or later, we'll have to go above ground. The question is, where do we do that?"

"That's easy" said Cindy. "The Arklay Lookout. The police said there was an extraction point there."

"But that's on the other side of town!" Jim exclaimed, shaking his head.

"Besides, even if we got there, there's no reason to believe the RPD will still be holding that position" Alyssa pointed out. "They could've been pushed back…assuming they were there in the first place."

"Fine" said Kevin, turning to face her. "What do _you_ suggest we do?"

"Aren't there trains that go out of the city?" Alyssa asked Jim.

He nodded. "Well, yeah. But there's no reason to believe they'll be running. Hell, look at this one. There's no power. None of the trains are going anywhere."

"Maybe not" Alyssa agreed. "But the tracks wills till be there, right? All we have to do is follow them out of town."

Jim opened his mouth to protest, shut it, opened it again, then nodded slowly. "Yeah…yeah, I can see that working."

Alyssa turned to the others, a confident smile on her face. "So, what are we waiting for? Let's go."

(CHASE)

Things had quieted down. The soldiers had eventually pulled up stakes and left, piling back into their big APCs and heading down the street. Chase didn't know where they were going, and frankly he didn't care. He had bigger problems to worry about.

For the moment, they were safe inside the office building. But only for the moment, because of a nasty little present the soldiers had left behind before they pulled out.

A few zombies had stumbled their way over to the firefight, blindly driven by their need to feed and intrigued by the sounds of fighting. They hadn't been much of an issue for those inside the building, and the soldiers outside had shot several of them down, more out of frustrated boredom than anything else.

Then one of them had had a truly devilish idea, the kind Chase was sure Satan gave extra pats on the back for whenever such an inventor found his way into hell.

It had taken two of the strange pheromone flares to trigger the massive surge of undead that eventually overran the RPD building. The soldiers set up at least _four_ in the middle of the street, then packed up and beat a hasty retreat as zombies began to converge on the area from all sides.

For the moment, they were simply pounding on the walls, their over-wide eyes scanning for any opening, but so far they hadn't found one. Still, Chase wasn't willing to wait around. After all, sometimes even the stupid got lucky. They needed to get out, and get out soon.

_It all comes down to the kids_ Chase thought, probably for the hundredth time. Things would've been simpler without them. Without them, it would've been possible to shoot their way out, making a mad run down the streets. But there was no way that'd work if they had to drag the almost twenty pre-teens with them. He needed to come up with something else.

There were only a handful of police left: himself, Karen, Rebecca, and Rita. There was also Billy the supposed former marine (Chase didn't know much about the man, but Mat and Rebecca had both vouched for him, and that was good enough), plus the girl named Maddie, Loretta, and the kids. It didn't take a genius tactician to realize this was a combat ineffective unit. Worse, they couldn't stay put. It was only a matter of time before the zombies managed to pry their way inside the unbarricaded office, and when they did, an already complicated situation would get a lot worse.

Billy was fiddling with the RPD, sighting down it at a wall, then practicing removing the magazine. They'd shoved the dead machinegunner out the door, where the zombies began to try and pry his armor away, somehow knowing there was meat inside and apparently getting frustrated when they couldn't get to it. It seemed crass to Chase to use the dead man as bait, but after all, it was his buddies' fault the zombies had shown up in the first place, so he doubted the big dead man would've been able to make his case hold up in the first place. Still, it seemed almost like they were crossing a line…

Rebecca had said as much to Billy while he and Chase had been manhandling the dead man out the door. Billy had heaved, the big, broad-shouldered soldier rolling over the curb and into the gutter, where the zombies began to make their way forward. Turning around, the muscular ex-soldier had rubbed his hands against each other, then shrugged. "Only two kinds of people out here right now. There's the quick. And there's the undead." He checked the magazine in his Colt, then shoved it back into place. "Guess which one I plan to be?"

Now, having satisfied himself with knowing the machinegun's basic controls, Billy set it down on a low coffee table, then dropped into an almost equally low chair, unhooked the magazine, and began to count the bullets. There was a certain…nervous quality to his movements. Chase had seen it during his days with the Army; Billy was doing this not from any real necessity (because, honestly, the applications of the cumbersome Russian machinegun in their current situation were almost nonexistent); he was just trying to find something for his hands to do, hoping they'd still the trimmers in his fingers, as well as probably trying to get his mind off something terrible that had happened.

And that was when it occurred to Chase. There was someone missing from their group.

It occurred to Rebecca about the same time. Chase saw it happen: her already pale face going even whiter. "Billy?" she said, her voice suddenly quiet and taut. "Where's Mat?"

Billy didn't look at her, though his eyes drifted away from the magazine he held in both hands, now shaking even more noticeably. His eyes focused on a spot on the rug in the next room, where the dead machinegunner's brains had leaked from his skull. "He's…he…he stayed behind" he managed finally.

"Jesus" muttered Chase, running his hands through his short hair. _Mat, you dumb kid. _

"What do you mean?" Rebecca asked, denial plainly in her voice. "Why would he do that?

"He said that…thing was after him. I guess after the three of us, since it tried to come after me" Billy shook his head, apparently still in disbelief. "So, Mat made sure it had to pick one of us. He…lit a fire. Then he told me to run."

"And…you did, didn't you?" Rebecca asked, taking a step toward him.

Billy stood up, setting the magazine down. "I…I _had_ to. There wasn't anything more I could do for him."

"You _left_ him" Rebecca said, a hard note entering her voice. Without warning, she balled up a fist and swung at Billy. Not suspecting the blow, he only barely sidestepped, her knuckles clipping his head.

"You left him!" Rebecca shouted, preparing for another swing, but Karen intervened, looping her arms through the younger woman's own, locking them back behind her. Rebecca grunted and struggled, her face livid. "You left him to die!" She turned her head slightly, trying to get a look at Karen. "Let me go!"

"Not until you calm down, officer" the older woman said sharply. "Or so help me, I'll have you brought up on charges when this is all over!"

Billy was shaking his head. "He-he told me to go. I didn't have a choice." His eyes locked with Chase's for a minute, as if seeking his approval. "I did what I had to do" he repeated. "What I had to do."

Chase shook his head. Mat had been…well, like a somewhat obnoxiously eager little puppy, always trying to please. He'd always thought the kid was a little young to be made sergeant, even if he did have a knack for chemicals (for someone who'd never seen the inside of a college classroom, Mat Dawson was a damned artist when it came to explosives). Still, he'd come back a lot older when he and the STARS had returned from the forest back in July. He wasn't quite the same, wasn't the good natured guy he'd once been. Chase had seen that during the siege of the RPD building: Mat didn't seem to see things the way he once had. He'd definitely aged during his ordeal in the forest, and some part of Chase wanted to ask just what the younger man had experienced. Now he realized he'd probably never know.

And Mat had been pretty close to Rebecca. He didn't know exactly what that was all about, although he'd seen them kiss at least once, albeit somewhat awkwardly. He suspected both of them were just confusing adrenaline for…another kind of hormone. Still, Mat had undoubtedly been trying to save her and the others when he lured that monster away.

Chase had grown up Methodist, but drinking and the US Army Rangers had gotten in the way, slowly driving all Scripture from his head. Still, he remembered a line about there being no greater love than a man who'd lay down his life for his friends. And Mat Dawson had almost certainly died to save them.

Rebecca stopped struggling, and true to her word, Karen let her go. Breathing heavily, Rebecca sank to her knees, head bent down for a moment to try and catch her breath.

"I'm sorry" Chase managed, after an awkward pause. "For…for what it's worth, I liked him, and I'm sorry he's gone."

"You don't know for sure he's dead" Billy said, after a moment.

Chase sent him a death glare. _This poor girl's upset enough. Don't play games with her head by giving her false hope._

Rebecca looked up, her eyes focusing on him. "But…you _saw-_"

"I saw Mat fighting that thing. That's it. He could've gotten away" Billy replied, taking a knee beside her. "Besides, we both thought he died once before, and he didn't. That guy's a fighter. And he's going to come back. Just wait."

Rebecca nodded slowly. "Thanks, Billy. I needed that. And I'm sorry." She looked at the others, clearly very embarrassed. "I'm sorry."

Karen shrugged. "It happens. Not a big deal." She turned to Chase. "Well, sir, any ideas on how to get us out of this wonderful mess we're all in?"

Chase nodded. "Yeah. I know how we're getting out of here."

"How's that?" Rita asked, stepping in from the next room with Loretta, Maddie apparently having elected to keep an eye on the kids for a minute.

"Up" Chase replied, pointing his index finger at the ceiling. In response to their confused stares, he clarified. "The roof. We'll use the roofs."

(KEVIN)

The going got tough pretty quickly. It wasn't that they encountered any infected (or any other monsters, like the big one they'd been ambushed by about an hour ago on the street). Instead, it just kept getting darker and darker. They had to slow down significantly for fear of tripping over the tracks, and had to keep in constant verbal contact to make sure everyone was still present. If anything, that last bit ensured Kevin learned and remembered everybody's name.

There was an uncomfortable feeling down in the underground, like they were being followed. There was definitely…something in the tunnels with them, and it was all the more frustrating that they couldn't see it. Like they were being played.

Kevin heard something rasping on the walls, a heavy body being dragged across the ground, gravel shifting, subtle, dry clicking in the distance. Whatever was in the subway with them, it wasn't human.

No one said anything about the noises, but Kevin knew they all heard them. Everyone's voices, even his own, grew tense and stiff, as everyone walked on eggshells.

Then they were walking on something else. Kevin felt his foot bump something soft on the ground, at the same time he heard one of the women (Yoko, he suspected) stumble and let out a gasp of surprise.

"What the hell?" demanded Mark when he almost fell, apparently angry that something had gotten in his way.

"Hang on a second" came David's raspy voice. A second later, there was a click, a flash of fire, and suddenly the area immediately around him was illuminated in a faint reddish glow, which flickered in the lighter's glare.

"Shit!" exclaimed Kevin, taking a step back. Gasps and startled exclamations from the others indicated everyone's general displeasure when it became apparent the tunnel they stood in was strewn with dead bodies.

"Who…who are they?" George asked. Cindy had pulled into herself, huddling behind him.

Mark knelt down beside one man, touching a patch sewn onto his uniform. "These guys are Airborne Rangers" he said, running his thumb over the embroidered parachute. "What the hell were they doing down here?"

"They must've been deployed into the city when things started going bad" Kevin said, stooping down beside another man and unclipping his radio. "That means there may be more soldiers inside, which means we might not have to go as far to get rescued." He slung his G36, then looked over at Mark and David. "We need to check these bodies. I know it's distasteful, but at this point, we need whatever they're carrying more than they do. See if you can find a map or something. No offense," he added, looking over at Jim, "but your memory's not the most reliable means of direction we could have, especially as dark as it is."

Jim shrugged. "Nah, I get you. In fact, I'm gonna get me a gun myself." He still had the Beretta Kevin had given him back at the RPD building, but he didn't blame the other man for wanting to get his hands on a weapon that had more reach.

Their search of the dead Rangers turned up little of any value: a few fragmentation grenades (not worth much, given zombies kept coming until their brains were destroyed), a few M16s (most of which had apparently been _crushed_ beyond use, though their magazines were good), a few Beretta M9s (allowing Kevin to make sure everyone had at least one gun), and various personal effects. This last bit was the most disturbing, since it was a reminder of the dead men's humanity, something Kevin knew he could do without.

He managed to keep his mind off that, by focusing on recharging his G36 magazine. It shared bullets, if not feed devices, with the M16, but he managed to get a couple magazines' worth of loose rounds, too, which he tucked into his tactical vest's pocket.

"What do you think happened to these guys?" Dustin asked, voicing the question everyone else was trying to avoid.

"Blunt force trauma" David replied, flicking his lighter closed and dropping them out of its wavery yellow glow and into darkness. "It's like these guys ran into a steamroller."

"Jesus" muttered Jim. "What's big enough to do this?"

"I don't know" said Kevin, readying the G36. "All the same, I have no desire to find out." He turned to where he thought the others were. "C'mon, let's get a move on."

They went on their way in still more silence, aside from their scheduled check-ins. Occasionally George would inquire about Karl, to which either he, Karl, or Mark would respond with short, gruff answers that often answered the question and no more. Kevin didn't think it was terseness on the part of the rear guard, so much as them just being nervous about being in the back.

They'd been walking about fifteen minutes since encountering the dead soldiers, when Kevin felt wind rush past him, following closely behind the startled cries of everyone in the back.

"What the hell?" he demanded, before David flicked out his lighter and revealed the…thing standing in front of them.

It was a flea. That much was obvious. However, this particular flea was enormous, at least five feet long and three feet tall. Kevin didn't wait around and try to figure out what its intentions were. The monster bug was a humongous parasite, had come bouncing out of the darkness at them, and was almost certainly not interested in prolonging their lives.

Without hesitation he brought the G36 to his shoulder and fired a burst, his 5.56mm bullets tearing the thing apart, knocking the monster bug onto its side, puncturing the big inflatable sack that made up most of its body and spilling what was almost certainly stolen human blood onto the ground as it writhed in agony.

"What was _that_?" Jim demanded, his eyes wide with fear, but Kevin could hear more things moving around in the darkness behind them.

"No time!" he shouted, glancing over his shoulder. "C'mon everyone, let's go!"

They ran in the darkness, somehow miraculously avoiding breaking anything in the midnight blackness of the subway tunnel. At last, they saw a ring of light up ahead, what looked almost like the result of some unknown explosion. The subway tunnel branched off here. The one straight ahead looked altogether normal, although the path to the right didn't look intended; the wall had clearly collapsed, like something big had pushed its way through, and on the other side Kevin could see unnaturally sterile walls, the kind he'd expect to see in a hospital, not a subway tunnel. Above they could see the hellish glow of Raccoon City, still burning in the early morning.

"Daylight…" began Yoko, before cutting off in a scream as something truly horrifying scuttled into view: five more of the flea monsters, two even bigger than the one Kevin had killed, and all watching them eagerly.

"Don't stop!" Kevin shouted, firing a burst into one, ripping its body open with the small, high velocity projectiles. The giant parasite went down, another, smaller flea lunging out of the shadows and sucking the pool of blood surrounding the dying bug like a hideous vacuum, only to be speared in turn by a long, thin grey projectile and dragged back into the darkness with a high pitched squeal.

"Oh hell, now what?" David muttered, squinting down his FAL's sights.

"We don't have time for this!" George shouted. "Officer, we can't stay and fight…whatever this thing is. It's just too big."

"That _thing_ is between us and our way out!" David shouted back. "What do you suggest we do, ask politely for it to move?"  
A loud screeching noise from behind cut short what might otherwise have been a lively debate.

"Aw, shit" Mark growled from the back.

"Fuck, I know that sound" Jim moaned. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, _fuck._"

Kevin was about to ask what he was talking about, but the light that suddenly flooded the tunnel was answer enough. "Train!" he shouted. "Everyone, get off the tracks!"

Subway trains didn't generally have horns or whistles, though Kevin could see the train's engineer at his position up front, swearing animatedly and wildly gesturing at them to get off the track. Kevin was only too happy to oblige, hurrying to the right, where the tracks ended.

He heard the sound of gears groaning as the engineer tried to apply the train's brakes, but it was simply going too fast, and couldn't be stopped. Kevin ran as far as he could, but eventually realized it wouldn't make any difference, and turned to watch.

Karl, Mark, and Dustin barely cleared the tracks before the subway hurtled past. Kevin could see the cars, people crammed into them as tightly as possible, most looking either concerned or just uncomfortable, though several cars at various increments clearly contained zombies, their hungry, unnaturally grey faces pressed against the windows, which were smeared with gore and saliva, or marred by bloody handprints.

All this flashed before Kevin in an instant, because he heard another sound, one that was far worse: the shriek of the monster in the darkness.

The train's headlamp shown on it for just a moment, and Kevin had to admit George was right: there was no way they could've killed this thing, not without it taking a bunch of them with it.

It was huge, a monster flea at least fifteen feet tall and twice as long, supported on thin, spindly spider legs, its flat body suspended high above the ground, while the "smaller" fleas darted, bounced, and rolled at its feet. Behind it he saw more, even smaller creatures, emerging from some sort of nest, and realized this thing must've been their mother, their hideous, monstrous, mutant queen, and the subway tunnels were probably soon going to be full of her spawn.

Then the train slammed into the giant flea, its momentum knocking the bug off its feet, but derailing the train in the process. Kevin heard a series of sickening crunches and pops, as the fleas, the cars, and the people inside were crushed in the resulting accident.

"Oh, God" he whispered, riveted to the awful spectacle.

"C'mon, officer!" Alyssa shouted, hurrying past him, Yoko in tow. One of the subway cars spun, slamming into the wall, causing cracks to spider web up it, the concrete shattering and buckling, as the next car slammed into the one ahead of it, flattening an opportunistic flea between them with a dull _splat_, chunks of the chamber they stood in collapsing, neatly sealing the tunnel to them.

Kevin took a step back, then another, dazed by what he'd just seen. He tripped over something he didn't see and landed flat on his ass, still staring at the cave in about two dozen feet away.

George stepped forward, putting a hand on his shoulder. "What now, Officer?" he asked. When Kevin didn't answer, he shook him a little. "Officer?"

At last, after a few more seconds of staring at the catastrophe, Kevin rose and turned to the others. "Looks like we don't have much choice" he said. He looked ahead, down the long, wide staircase made of the same white material as the walls and ceiling, looking eerily what so many cartoons had conditioned him to think heaven looked like. "Let's see what's down that way" he said, taking his first step.

(KAREN)

"Are you sure about this?" the man named Billy asked, looking down nervously at the street below, and the zombies congregating there.

Chase sent him a look telling him just how stupid he thought that question was. "No, I'm just up here because I think it's not safe and I hope we all die."

"Just asking, buddy" Billy replied, shaking his head a little.

They'd found the ladder in one of the building's supply closets. Fortunately, fully extended, it stretched perfectly across the alleyway between them and the next building, making a practical, if not ideal, bridge between the two.

"Well, if you're nervous, you can always let the others go across first" Karen suggested, slinging her UMP over her shoulder.

He made a face. "No thanks" he said, crouching down and preparing to step onto the narrow ladder after Chase. It wobbled a little under his weight, but remained firm. The two former soldiers made their way across, then leapt down onto the building at the other end of the alley.

Chase turned and waved. "The roof's secured. It'd be a good idea to start moving the kids over here now."

The girl named Maddie turned to the motley assortment of children. "C'mon, guys. Just follow me."

Nervously, the children began to follow her across the gap. Loretta followed behind, her shotgun clutched tightly to her chest.

That left Karen, Rita, and Rebecca still on the roof of the first building.

Rebecca looked over the side, then shook her head. "I'm not sure I like this" she muttered, shaking her head.

"Well, I doubt you'll like it any more the longer you stand here staring at it" Karen said irritably. She just didn't have patience for immaturity, and if Rebecca's little outburst earlier was any indication, she appeared to be full of it. In case her first statement hadn't made things obvious, Karen added, "Get a move on."

"Alright, _alright_" Rebecca snapped back, muttering to herself as she made her way across. After sending Karen a censorious glance, Rita followed.

Karen waited until Rebecca and Rita (the R's, as she was starting to think of them) were halfway across, before starting her own journey. She was usually tasked with perimeter security, anyway, so she was used to being in the back.

Still, Karen had learned during the first few hours of this nightmare, that despite the fact that they were still in Raccoon City, things weren't at all the way they used to be.

Suddenly, Maddie screamed. Karen's eyes jerked toward her, but the girl was staring at a fixed point up in the air.

"Incoming!" Billy yelled, pointing at the sky. Karen looked up to see a black cloud descending on them.

"Oh no" Rebecca said quietly, as they got a good look at the flock of birds descending on them. She half drew her custom Beretta, Rita doing the same with her Hi Power. Karen brought the UMP up to her shoulder, clicking it to semi automatic as the crows, pigeons, and various other birds dove at them.

"Go, go, _go_!" Chase was shouting, firing his own handgun at the attacking birds. A few dropped, but most kept coming.

Rebecca stopped firing and scuttled along the ladder. A moment later, Rita started to follow, but she didn't watch where she was going, and her foot caught on a rung, pitching her forward.

"Jump!" Chase shouted, waving to Rebecca. She leapt, plowing into Billy and knocking him onto the roof, just as the ladder twisted underneath Karen's boots.

"No!" Chase shouted, diving forward, grabbing for the end nearest him, but even as he stabilized that side, the other end slipped off, dropping down into the alley…and taking Karen and Rita with it.

Karen had seen the original _King Kong _when she was little. The stop motion monsters had terrified her, however laughable they might've been now. Still, the most disturbing scene for her had been when Kong tipped the tree-bridge over about midway through the movie, spilling the hapless crew of the SS _Venture_ into a monster filled pit.

That memory surged to the forefront of Karen's mind as she and Rita dropped over the side of the flipping ladder, the ground rushing up to meet. Ashamed though she might've been to admit it, Karen screamed all the way down.

Then she slammed down, hard, on the roof of a car parked in the alley, its windows exploding out in a shower of glass as the top caved in. Karen ground, her back a solid sore, lying there, staring up dazedly at the early morning sky above.

She heard rapid gunfire to her left, and looked over to see Rita frantically shooting a zombie in the face as it crawled toward her, the short woman's eyes wide. It looked to Karen like she'd landed on the thing, probably not the most enjoyable experience in the world.

Karen groaned and slid out of the metal nest her impact had turned the roof of the car into, her boots hitting the street with a sound of crunching glass. Up above them, there was still sporadic gunfire as the others dispatched the last of the crows. While it was good that menace was being dealt with, the excess noise was serving as a giant dinner bell for the zombies on the street, who began to shuffle forward, arms blindly outstretched, their glazed, sightless sharks' eyes staring fixedly ahead as they felt their way forward.

Karen turned, bringing the UMP to her shoulder, firing a round…and missing wildly, still a little dazed from the fall. Rita spun around and fired her Browning at the zombies, dropping one zombie with three shots, the range a little beyond what the average cop was trained for with a handgun.

Karen squeezed her eyes closed for a minute, trying to reset her brain's equilibrium, before sighting in again and squeezing the trigger. The zombie she'd aimed for's head snapped up, a bullet embedded right between his eyes, a look of slack jawed stupidity on his face as he fell backward. Karen shifted her aim, firing again, dropping another zombie with two shots.

A door a few feet away from Rita swung open, Chase standing in the opening. "Come on!" he shouted, waving frantically.

"Go, I'll cover you!" Karen shouted, jerking her head at Rita for a moment. The other woman nodded, holstering her Browning and staggering over to the doorway.

Karen waited until Rita was inside before she stopped shooting, spinning around and taking a step…then falling flat on her face as her leg gave out underneath her, red hot pain shooting up its length. She gritted her teeth, feeling the color leech from her face, her eyes shut tightly in agony. She heard the zombie shuffling ever closer.

Agony shot through Karen's body as she took a knee, propping her elbow on the leg not currently in active rebellion, putting four rounds into the chest of the closest zombie, enough punishment to put him down but not take him out. She shifted her fire and did the same to another infected, bullets stitching up the old woman's torso, the .45 tearing through her brown leather jacket and making little puffs of dried blood with each impact.

Then someone grabbed her shoulder. Karen started to butt stroke that someone in the head with her UMP, but saw that it was Chase, and decided she was willing to let him carry her to safety. "About time" she growled as he hauled her to her feet. Billy and Rebecca had taken up positions at the doorway, firing their handguns into the crowd of zombies milling toward them.

"Well, I thought it was time for you to have some fun" Chase replied, good natured as he usually was when talking to her. He was about the only officer she'd never managed to piss off with her brusque demeanor, and while she'd never quite figured out why, she suspected it was because, secretly, Chase found her highly amusing.

"Billy, I think it might be time to wrap this party up" Chase said to the former marine, who nodded.

"Fair enough" he said, flicking the safety on his strange Colt, before stuffing it into his waistband and unslinging the M79. "Here that, boys?" he shouted at the zombies, bringing the 40mm grenade launcher to his shoulder. "Party's over!"

There was a _whump!_ as he fired the grenade, which arced forward, before coming down into the midst of the zombies. Billy could've aimed a little better; the grenade detonated just below head level, meaning shrapnel tore through the zombies' chest and lower bodies, but killed them only by coincidence. Still, it was spectacular, and Karen was willing to let things slide at that.


	7. The Honorable Michael Warren

Chapter 6: The Offices of the Honorable Michael Warren

(ROGER)

Roger Woods had had worse birthdays. At least, that was what he kept telling himself. Honestly, he was having a hard time remembering one this bad. But there just _had_ to be some other time things had been this shitty.

He shifted from foot to foot, rubbing his hands together. It was nippy outside City Hall, and Roger needed to stay awake. God only knew what would happen to him if he didn't…

He had an assault rifle hanging down at his waist, a CAR-15 .223 automatic carbine. It was a wonderful weapon for close quarters, a discard from the US Army, the division it had belonged to still stamped on the receiver. It had been in storage for a while, until the present crisis, when the police had dug it out and handed it to him, telling him and seven other officers to head for City Hall and make sure the Mayor made it out of town safely.

That had seemed like an easy enough job, and guiltily, Roger had been glad of the assignment, since it meant he'd be off the sinking ship that was the defense of the RPD HQ. He'd figured he'd show up with the other cops at City Hall, collect the Mayor, and be on their way.

He hadn't expected orders to hold position at the large building indefinitely; while the Mayor did God only knew _what_ inside. They'd been here since the early morning, and Roger just wanted to get out of Dodge.

He sucked at a cigarette, his cheeks hollowing out as he took a drag, the embers at the end briefly flaring an angry red that eerily matched the burning city around him. The cigarette was a habit he kept trying to break, every since he'd been legally able to smoke in the first place. He'd been able to do that for four years now, and it wasn't likely he'd be winning that particular battle any time soon.

He shrugged. Jaime loved to bitch at him about his smoking. Granted, Jaime loved to bitch at him about a lot of things. Roger loved his little sister…_but_ there were times she got on his last nerve.

Still, he would gladly have put up with her incessant nagging if only it meant he was with her instead of in this nightmarish hell hole.

A sound behind him made Roger spin around, bringing up the CAR-15, but he lowered it after a moment, feeling a little embarrassed.

"Sorry Kurt" he said. "I thought you were-"

"Well, if there were zombies coming from _inside_ City Hall, you'd already be fucked" Kurt Grey replied, hefting his AUG. "Cap sent me out to relieve you."

Roger nodded. "Thanks. See ya around." Without a backwards glance, he stepped around his replacement and headed back inside.

The police had taken over one of the administrative kitchens, where they'd raided the fridge and set up a coffee maker. Roger had had a cup of the resulting brew an hour before his watch, and immediately regretted it. Coffee always gave him the galloping shits, and this stuff was acidic enough to flay the armor off a tank. Still, a few of the older officers on the Force, like Chase Mathison on SWAT, or Hugh Young, in charge of this little adventure, refused to drink it unless it was this…memorable. Roger didn't understand that himself, and decided being with the RPD long enough caused one's taste buds to whither away and die. As for Roger, he liked to take his cue from the Beastie Boys, and take his sugar with a little coffee and cream.

There was, sadly, nothing to eat in the kitchen. It had apparently been standard procedure for everyone to go out to lunch on Friday, and so nobody had had anything in the fridge. Roger hadn't eaten since lunch yesterday, and right now he would've killed for food. Horrible clichés aside, he could've gone for a donut, or even on of those girly little French pastry things, whose names he could never remember.

He ended up having to make do with some extremely stale graham crackers he found in the pantry, thoroughly tasteless and old enough to be bent in half without breaking. He chocked it down, left the CAR-15 on the table, then headed upstairs to make his report.

He found Hugh Grey standing outside the Mayor's office, arms folded across his chest, a Browning Hi Power on his right thigh, a nightstick on his left. He was a tall, skinny man with a pallid complexion, perfectly fitting his name. He wore an expression sour enough to make Roger think he'd sucked an entire tree's worth of lemons. Had he not known the captain, Roger would've thought the man disapproved of him; in reality, that was just his face.

"Anything to report, Woods?" Grey asked, not unfolding his arms.

Roger shook his head. "No sir. Everything and everyone are just as fucked up as they were when we left."

Grey nodded. "Understood. Go wait in the conference room. I suspect we're going to be moving out soon."

"Yes sir" Roger said. It was the only answer he could give. They been expecting to move out since they'd first gotten to City Hall last night, and it hadn't happened yet. Still, Grey had been standing outside Warren's office since then, after the Mayor's own staff had left him to seek shelter elsewhere. Roger didn't know what had happened to them, but he'd seen a lot of people in business attire wandering around the area, so he didn't have to think hard.

He made his way to a couch in one of the upper floor waiting rooms. The thing was stiff and wooden, with cushions far too thin to be comfortable by any stretch of the imagination. Still, Roger's dad had slept in dirt during the siege of Khe San, and would've told his son to get over it.

Roger smiled ruefully as he pulled his Browning out of its holster and set it on the table beside him, atop year old copies of _Time_, _National Geographic_, and _Life_. His last thought before drifting off to sleep for the first time in twelve hours was that, when all this was over, he'd finally have some war stories to swap with his dad.

(NICHOLAI)

He was jogging down the center of the street, PSG-1 slung across his shoulder, his USP in one hand, his finger resting on the slide. According to his PDA, Nicholai had another three miles to get to his target, but also had about five days to do it. Still, Raccoon City had some of the worst streets of any settlement he'd ever had the misfortune of fighting inside, and his destination also happened to be on the other side of the River Circular, the local name for the portion of the Arklay that followed through the middle of the City. Add several thousand undead cannibals between here and there, and things were…interesting.

Nicholai hated interesting. Interesting meant your local guides may or may not have been _mujahedeen, _may or may not have been spies for the Americans, Saudis, or a million other unfriendly nations, you may or may not have the proper map for the region of the country you were in, let alone the maps themselves being accurate or even up to date. You may or may not know where all the landmines were. You may or may not have friendly helicopters to call in. Your supply train (pack mules and donkeys climbing dirt tracks through the mountains, more often than not) may or may not be controlled by the enemy, meaning you could receive dud ammo, assuming the local _muj_ didn't just kill your irregulars outright.

Nicholai had had enough of interesting in Afghanistan. And on top of everything else, America was supposed to be a _mat tvoyu_ civilized nation!

Still, there would be times to curse his ill fortune later. Now, he just wanted to focus on getting out of the city alive…and on all the money he'd have once he did.

(WARREN)

In another portion of the city, another man was thoroughly cursing ever having taken money in the first place. Michael Warren had been on the take with Umbrella since his first term as Mayor. He wasn't the only public servant from Colorado; he knew for a fact the Governor, the senator for his district, and the president were themselves his…co-workers.

Still, Raccoon City was _his_ town, dammit. They'd foisted incompetents, idiots, and psychopaths onto him, from Brian Irons to Albert Wesker to William Birkin, all with the tacit instructions that he should just accept things the way they were, and not question the _status quo_.

Although he'd never been told as much, Warren had always suspected Harris, the previous tenet of his office, _had_ questioned that _status quo_…and it had led to an unfortunate swim in the Arklay River, strapped firmly to his car. That was how he'd become Mayor in the first place, and Warren, unlike his predecessor, had too much to lose, being a well connected family man who could trace his ancestry all the way back to the first white settlers in the area. Umbrella had apparently learned its lesson, and chosen him to replace the dead man.

If Warren had known when Harris had asked him to be his deputy mayor what he knew now, he suspected he would've declined. He'd put up with that pervert Irons at the RPD, turning loose whack-jobs like Wesker or Guthrie on the streets. But this catastrophe was something much, much worse.

So now Warren sat in front of his computer, downloading as much data as he could onto several floppy discs. They were his insurance policy, the one way he knew he'd get out of this nightmare alive. He would've preferred taking Elizabeth with him, but there was no helping that now. He knew Irons, freak that he was, would probably take care of her, and there were a few uncorrupt members of the police force. Warren just had to worry about himself.

After five years on Umbrella's payroll, it was something he found he did best.

Well guys, sorry it's been so long since an update. I hope to be more consistent from here on out.

Also, I'm really excited to announce some of my characters may be appearing in two other stories.

More on this as it progresses.

Take care!

-Godzillafan93


	8. Just Like Old Times

Chapter 7: Just Like Old Times

(MAT)

Brad led Mat into the living room of the apartment he'd broken into. It had apparently belonged to some who was into ballet, at least judging by the pictures on the walls. He didn't have time to examine them too closely, though.

"Are you armed?" he asked the pilot.

The other man nodded quickly, pulling a handgun from a holster on his belt. The weapon looked like the "standard" Samurai Edge the STARS used, but with a big compensator mounted on the barrel, similar to the one Barry Burton used. And Barry's was a .40 burst-fire Beretta 96 modification. If Brad's was anything like that, it'd be a very powerful weapon.

"Can you use it?" he asked next.

Brad nodded dimly. "Of course I can" he said, shoving it back into its holster. But Mat had seen the way he handled the weapon, and it was clear he wasn't comfortable with it. "Why? What's your plan?" he asked, as Mat made his way to the door, which he yanked open. "You're not planning on going out there, are you?"

Mat ignored him, making his way to the door across the hall. He tapped it with the barrel of the Colt. "RPD. Open up." There was no response, so he kicked it down, a large splinter of wood hanging where it had been chained.

"Jesus Christ!" Brad shouted, then exclaimed again when a zombiefied young woman stumbled out of the bedroom, arms outstretched. Mat shot her in the head, the Colt's report even louder in the confined space. The dead girl's blood splattered the walls, her head jerking back as she collapsed limply to the ground, more blood leaking from her shattered skull.

Mat stepped over the body and headed to the window. He yanked the curtain down, letting sunlight flood the apartment, bathing it in a warm, early morning glow.

"What the hell are you doing?" Brad demanded, as Mat squinted down at the empty street below. "What are you looking for?"

"Our new friend. The one who's out to kill us."

"Us?" Brad sounded unsure now. "Why is he after us?"

Mat didn't look at him; his eyes remained fixed on the street below, searching for movement. "Because _we_ know what's really going on here, and Umbrella wants to make sure we don't tell anyone about it."

"Who's this we?" Brad asked. Mat turned and fixed him with a glare, and watched the older man's face drain of color. "I-I mean, I don't know anything about this! I-I'm innocent."

Mat shrugged. "That's up to you." He gestured to the door. "Feel free to leave and take your chances with Tall, Dark, and Ominous. I doubt he'll be willing to listen to your excuses, though."

"I-I think I'll stay with you."

Mat allowed himself a small smile. "Good call." He stepped away from the window, holstering the Colt and slipping the P90 off his back, clicking the fire selector switch to "1" with his right index finger. He stepped past Brad and headed for the door.

"Where are we going?" he asked, cringing when Mat kicked in another door, swept it once with his P90, then moved to the door across and did the same.

"We're leaving" Mat replied, shooting a zombie in the head inside the sixth apartment, rinsing, and repeating the process. "We're gonna head to the RPD building. I think I might know how to get my hands on something that'll make another run in with that…thing go a bit differently."

"What was that all about?" he asked once they'd cleared the hall.

"There's no one here" Mat replied, pushing the door to the stairwell open with his P90 and stepping into the dark, enclosed space. After a moment he clicked on a flashlight mounted on the side of the SMG, illuminating the eerily quite space. "I'd be willing to bet there's no one here at all." He paused, then amended, "No one alive, anyway."

He heard Brad step onto the stairs behind him, followed by the rasp of him drawing his big handgun. "_That's_ comforting" he muttered.

"We're in a city full of zombies" Mat replied, half over his shoulder. "Please forgive me for not being very optimistic."

He reminded himself he needed to go easy on Brad. The guy wasn't combat trained, so there was no reason to expect him to be handling things well. On the other hand, Brad hadn't conducted himself well back in July, which meant Mat knew he wouldn't be able to rely on him under pressure. The STARS pilot was just as likely to run as fight. And if he did, then Mat would be really screwed.

They made it to the bottom floor without incident. Mat made sure to stack the odds in their favor; they never left the stairwell unto they reached the ground.

The door to the main building was shut. Mat pressed his shoulder against it, holding the P90 close to his body with his right arm, while his left hand reached out and grabbed the doorknob. He looked over at Brad. "Ready?"

Brad nodded gamely. "Sure. Why not?"

Mat twisted the doorknob, allowing the door to swing open, and was immediately hit by the rancid stench of decay. Without hesitation he changed tactics from "quiet steps" to "shock and awe," kicking the door open the rest of the way. It flew out, slamming into something solid on the other side and vibrating loudly.

Mat brought the P90 up to his shoulder and put a round through the left eye of a zombie lunging forward, the pasty-face young man looking confused, his mouth still wide open in a snarl as he dropped to the floor. He shifted targets and put another .224 caliber bullet in the forehead of the next zombie, causing him to stumble backwards, thumping against a vending machine and staining its big plastic window with his blood.

Mat stepped forward, sweeping his P90 for targets, then turned to wave Brad forward…only to find the gaping mouth of the zombie he'd hit with the door right in his face instead.

"Shit!" he exclaimed, brining the weapon up, but the dead man was too close, and the PDW's barrel struck him in the chest, the zombie pressing closer and closer to him. The zombie reared his head back, ready to take a bite…then stiffened, his moan cutting off midway as he slumped to the floor, thrashing.

Brad stood behind Mat, smoke drifting from the barrel of his handgun. Mat looked down at the zombie, who had two neat bullet holes in his back, one apparently having severed the dead man's spine. With a savage kick, Mat broke the man's neck, then turned to the pilot. "Nice shot" he managed weakly, trying not to think about how close he'd come to death. "Thanks."

"Y-yeah" stammered Brad, looking sick. "Let's get out of here, okay?"

That seemed like a good idea to Mat.

(JILL)

_Fucking teenagers_ Jill silently cursed for what had to be the dozenth time in less than half an hour. She'd had to chase Rosa down, attracted the attention of a hunter, and the little bitch hadn't even had the decency to stick around, running off yet _again_, leaving Jill to deal with the monster.

The monster in question sprinted toward her, shrieking wildly, arms raised, mouth open as it charged. Jill fired her handgun, the Samurai Edge throwing lead downrange at the BOW, but as usual, the 9mm didn't do much to it. Jill knew she would've had to hit something vital to stop the thing, and she hadn't.

The thing got within five feet of Jill before she spun and kicked it in the face, causing it to stagger backward. Not content just to send the hunter reeling, Jill spun counterclockwise and kicked it again with her other leg, knocking it off its feet. Before it had the chance to get up, Jill jammed the Samurai Edge into the BOW's mouth and opened fire, putting two rounds through the back of the hunter's head.

The monster gurgled on its own blood, thrashing around and struggling to get up, before finally going limp in a widening pool of green bodily fluids.

Jill stood up and checked the magazine in her handgun. She had ten bullets left, and nothing in reserve. She needed to get her hands on more ammo, and soon, or she'd be screwed. And while Raccoon City wasn't by any means a gun-unfriendly town, there weren't that many places she could think of where she'd be sure to find ammo. In fact, only two came to the forefront of her brain. Fortunately, she was close to both.

Still, there were two civilians running around town, both of whom were her responsibility. She'd have to track them down before she could do anything else.

She headed back to the fence. Part of it was hiked up from where Rosa had crawled underneath, either because she didn't want to be a burden on Jill, or (as Jill suspected), she was just scared stiff.

Jill knelt down and worked her way underneath, managing not to snag herself on the chain links, which, while not quite being a miracle, was probably close enough for government work. Thus having exited the rail yard, Jill was now free…to reenter Raccoon City.

_Fantastic_ she thought, irritable again. To make matters worse, the rising sun was starting to give her a headache. She'd been hung over before, probably much worse than she was now, but _still_. On top of everything else, she _really_ didn't need this, too.

She made her way down the deserted streets of the city, handgun drawn and held at a low ready, her finger resting on the slide, the barrel aimed at the ground. She could hear various sounds in the distance: gunfire, moans, screams, explosions, generally nothing comforting.

For the first time, Jill wondered where the Army was. Surely people must've learned by _now_ what was going on in the city. Washington would've authorized troops to be deployed; at the very least, there ought to be National Guard units crawling all over the city. While the average soldier probably wouldn't be equipped to handle a full-scale T-virus outbreak, they'd learn quick, and the Guard, not to mention the regular Army, would be extremely helpful when it came to evacuating civilians from the combat zone.

So, where was everyone? There weren't any troops in evidence; not even dead ones, which Jill found really troubling. It was unlikely the military would've been able to engage zombies in combat without loosing a few soldiers, so the fact that there weren't any zombies in uniform indicated they weren't even trying.

That could mean one of two things. Either Umbrella was keeping the military out of the city deliberately (meaning the Company had more reach than any of them had thought, itself a disturbing prospect). Or…

Or, the government had given the city, and the few roughly hundred thousand people who lived inside, up for lost.

Jill was spared having to think this through any further by a loud scream from up ahead. "Now what?" she muttered.

Suddenly, Rosa burst out of a set of swinging glass doors, screaming and looking over her shoulder.

"Wait!" Jill shouted, only to have the girl ignore her…again. Then again, Jill got a look at what was chasing her, and decided maybe she wouldn't hold it against her.

There were four crimson heads following her, arms outstretched in their oddly loping gait, similar to a hunter's. They panted a strange yellow mist from their open mouths, their glowing red eyes darting in her directions.

"_Shit_" muttered Jill, readying her Beretta. She didn't have enough ammo to take all these things down, but maybe she could shoot her way out of this mess…

Then two other monsters darted in amongst the crimson heads, scattering the super zombies. One of the tall, insect-like monsters stood, swinging a long, scythe like appendage, and decapitated the nearest one. The others rushed them, snarling, trying to rip the bugs apart with their claws, but the insects had thick armor, and made short work of the trio of infected.

Jill backed into a shadowy alley, watching the bugs as they destroyed the zombies. The two new monsters made a low buzzing noise, hunkering down to the road…and then vanishing completely.  
Jill blinked. One minute, the two BOWs were there, and the next…they weren't. Like flipping a switch.

_This is bad_ she thought, turning and making her way down the alleyway. Whatever these new monsters were, they'd made short work of one of Umbrella's more frightening creations. Who could say what they'd do to her, especially when all she had was a handgun?

She kept close to the walls, staying in the shadows as much as she could. At one point she froze, pressing herself against the muddy bricks, at a sound above her: a strange _snick snick _noise, like giant suction cups, along with weak, asthmatic breathing. Whatever the thing on the wall above her was, it didn't notice her, crawling along the building and disappearing out of sight. Jill waited a moment longer, then let out an explosive breath and hurried on.

She kept going, eventually coming to another doorway, this one rusted metal, with a big, handle. Jill carefully eased it open…and found the man she least wanted to see again standing on the other side.

"Dario!" she exclaimed, causing the man to whirl around, eyes wide and hunted.

"You!" he shouted back, his face white. Wherever he'd been, whatever he'd been doing, it had clearly had a negative effect on him. "I…didn't expect to see you again. Not after finding you and Rosa had left the warehouse."

_I didn't expect to see you again, either. Not alive, anyway. Maybe shuffling around as a zombie…_ But Jill didn't say that. She figured it would've been impolite, not to mention a little unprofessional. She was still a cop, after all.

"Listen," she said, "we've got to keep moving. "Rosa's still out there, and-"

"Are you insane?" Dario asked. "There's no _way_ I'm going back out there!"

"But there isn't going to be any rescue!" Jill shouted back.

"I don't care! How dare you ask me to go out there again!"

Without waiting for a response, he turned and ran to a storage container, climbing inside and slamming the door, locking it behind him.

Jill stood, staring at the door for a minute, then gave up. "Fine" she muttered. "Suit yourself, but _I'm_ getting out of here."

(MAT)

Walking the streets with Brad was, if anything, even more unnerving than clearing the apartment building had been. Even if he had saved Mat's life earlier, he still found he couldn't trust the pilot. His eyes were darting everywhere at once, his face pale, his hands in a white knuckled grip around his handgun. He looked ready to bolt at any moment.

Mat inwardly shook his head, remembering the people he'd worked with in the past. He missed Rain and Enrico, not to mention Chase or Jill. They had the coldly obvious competence only experience could bring, and he knew they'd have his back. He'd known he could count on Chad, even though the man wasn't trained for combat. He'd even been able to trust Billy Coen, after a fashion. And of course, he knew he could trust Rebecca implicitly, albeit due to their history together.

But Rain, Enrico, and Chad were dead. Rebecca was hopefully with Chase, and hopefully they were both still alive. He even found himself not wishing any ill-will on Billy Coen; he didn't think of the man as a friend, and he couldn't forget that the former Marine was a murderer, but they'd been in combat together now, and that seemed to have had strange affects on their relationship, such as it was. On the other hand, he found he could conjure quite a bit of ill will for Jill. He felt guilty about that, since she might've been somewhere where she _couldn't_ have reported for duty. Still and all, he was willing to wait for her to be proven innocent.

All the same, he didn't have any of the people he would've liked to be stuck in the zombie apocalypse with. He had Brad Vickers, and he was going to have to make do with that.

"Hey," said Brad, tapping Mat's chest and bringing him back to the here and now, "isn't that a person?"

Mat's head jerked in the direction the other man had pointed, and..."Son of a bitch" he exclaimed at the sight of the girl sprinting frantically down the street. It occurred to him a moment later that he _really_ wasn't paying attention if _Brad_ had noticed something like this before him. Still, there was a time and a place for such thoughts, and it wasn't now. "Let's go!" he shouted, clutching the P90 to his chest as he took of down the street after her. He heard Brad curse, then follow half a second later.

Whoever this girl was (and she didn't look old enough to be out of high school), she was _fast_. Mat remembered dealing with Elizabeth Warren a few hours earlier (with a pang of regret when he remembered he had no idea what had happened to her), and how she'd complained about her feet hurting her. This girl looked to be dressed about the same, but if she was having any trouble, she didn't seem willing to let it slow her down. Mat was weighed down with all sorts of random crap, from the food he'd grabbed at his apartment, to spare ammo for both his weapons (and two full Browning mags), to Lisa Trevor's diary, plus he was tired, and had no desire to chase this girl down.

"Hey…wait!" he managed to shout, his breath having a hard time coming. _Damn it, why is there so much _running_ today?_

The girl slowed down a little, half turning to see him, confusion on her face at the sight of two men running toward her, clearly armed and clearly alive, confusion that turned to relief when she realized they weren't going to hurt her (not that Mat suspected he and Brad would've been in any condition to try).

Relief that was still on her face when the monster bug crouching in the shadows lunged forward, gibbering and hissing as it grabbed her. The girl didn't even have a chance to scream before it planted its spear-like nose in her forehead, her body twitching slightly as the monster began to suck her brain out.

"Oh, _Jesus_" sobbed Brad, suddenly and violently sick on the sidewalk.

Something hot ignited in Mat at the sight of the girl's face, her muscles slowly relaxing in death. She still looked relieved to see them, even though his shout had caused her to stop and gotten her killed. He clicked the P90 from 1 to A, brought the weapon to his shoulder, and opened fire. .224 inch bullets tore through the hideous bug's body, knocking it away from its victim, one round tearing its nose cleanly off. It landed on its back, but tried to rise. Mat fed it another burst, bullets tearing through the monster's body and striking the pavement below.

"C'mon!" Mat shouted angrily, eyes darting around for another target. He heard a rustling from the right, and turned to see another bug wiggling its way out of a dumpster. Without hesitating he fired a short burst into the thing's face, causing its head to explode in a spray of yellow-green gore. It slumped down, the dumpster's lid slamming down on its back.

"Mat…" Brad said nervously, trying to calm him down, but Mat wasn't interested. He'd had enough of this. He just wanted blood. He wanted to kill as many BOWs as he could, and as quickly and painfully as possible.

More of the bugs were scuttling their way, two rearing up on their hind legs and charging. Mat triple-tapped both of them, dropping the bugs in the street, where they twitched and spasmed and died, their fellows not slowing down.

Mat heard Brad cry out and spun to see an honest to God hunter sprinting toward them, head forward, making it look all the more like a shark. This was much too close to fight it, so he decided to change tactics.

"C'mon" he shouted to Brad, sprinting for an alley. He spun and fired the P90, a four-round burst into the charging monster, dropping it mortally wounded to the ground. Unfortunately, that burst terminated abruptly when he ran out of ammo. Without pausing he dropped the weapon, letting its sling catch it at his waist, smoothly drawing the Colt and shooting another hunter as it leapt over the one he'd just killed. His bullets caught it in midair and threw it back down. Mat kept backing up, shoving a new magazine into the P90 and clicking it back over to semi automatic. Brad wasn't shooting, and this looked like it was going to be a one man show.

Another hunter rounded the corner, and Mat opened fire, hitting the thing in the arm and causing it to spin around, shrieking in surprise. Two more sprinted around hot on its heels, but paused almost comically when they looked down the alley. Then, with a shriek of a different pitch, they turned and fled.

"Yeah!" Mat shouted, shaking his fist at them. "You want some more, you know where to come, bitches!"

"Uh, Mat…"

Brad was tugging on his sleeve. Mat turned around and felt the wind leave his sails. "Oh."

The monster, _the_ monster, was standing about twenty-feet away, its teeth bared in a grimace. With a low growl it started forward.

"Oh _shit_" Brad said quietly. "We're fucked."

"Up!" Mat shouted, pointing to a fire escape. "Let's go!"

Brad needed no more urging. Without a backwards glace, he scrambled onto a dumpster, then leapt up and grabbed the ladder and began to pull himself up. Mat waited just long enough for it to possible, then jumped himself, wrapping his hands around the rungs…just as the monster grabbed his ankle.

There wasn't much of a contest. With a casual flick of its wrist, the super Tyrant pulled Mat off the fire escape and flung him several feet away. He landed hard on the ground with a groan, just in time to see the monster stomping toward him…and Brad ducking through a window. _Chickenshit little bitch_ was the first thing that came to mind as he scrambled to his feet, taking aim-

The thing backhanded him again, and Mat slammed into a brick wall. He tasted blood in his mouth, his vision going red for a minute, his head spinning. He landed on his hands and knees, dizzy, a trail of bloody saliva falling from his mouth. He slowly, awkwardly scrambled forward, desperate to get away.

Then the monster smacked him again, this time sending him through the window of a store, glass shattering. He caught a glimpse of it charging past like a linebacker from hell, then slammed into a shelf, the thin metal coming apart under his weight. He landed in a pile of God only knew what, and lay there for a moment, trying to recover.

Then he heard a roar from outside and looked up to see the monster. It had its head thrown back, its arms outstretched, huge fists clenched as it bellowed in rage. Mat wasn't quite sure what it was mad about; it wasn't like someone had been using _it_ as a punching bag. Then the monster was dashing forward, its heavy boots making audible sounds as they struck the pavement, its sickly pale fists clenched tightly. Mat suddenly remembered he had an urgent appointment…anywhere that wasn't here.

He scrambled to his feet, making an undignified sprint away from the creature, staggering drunkenly for the back door.

Fortunately, it gave out under his first, very weak shoulder charge, opening into a narrow alley.

Unfortunately, the hunter Tyrant didn't have any more trouble smashing its way through the façade of the store. It slammed through a shower of bricks, caught sight of Mat, and bellowed in impotent rage before charging again.

Mat turned and ran, managing to more or less do so in a straight line this time, feeling an uncomfortable sense of déjà vu, remembering his last encounter with this…thing, and how he'd only barely gotten away. And he hadn't had the shit beaten out of him last time, either.

The Nemesis plowed through the doorway, its huge frame shattering the brickwork above along with the door itself. It stopped to roar again before charging, head down. This one lacked the previous model's ridiculous arm-blade, but that just meant it'd probably try to beat him to death instead of impaling him, and that wasn't any more palatable to Mat.

He rounded a corner and took off down the street. He heard the monster pause, then heard it bellow when it caught sight of him again, profoundly wishing the thing would find another hobby, because he was _this_ close to dropping dead right then and there.

He sidestepped a hungry zombie, clipped it in the head with the P90, and kicked it in the direction of Nemesis, who plowed it under like some sort of hideous undead lawn mower. The zombie roadblock still didn't slow it down much. And Mat was running out ideas.

Then he saw something up ahead, and had an idea. If it didn't work he was dead, but odds were, he'd be dead if he didn't try it, either.

Mat put on one last burst of speed and headed for the overpass, realizing he'd come in a complete circle. This was just above where they'd run into the Nemesis in the first place.

He didn't slow down, dashing for the edge…and jumping over the side.

He heard a confused below from the Nemesis from where he hung on, just out of sight. His arms were already sore, and he knew he couldn't do this for very long. The monster leaned over the edge, trying to find him. It didn't see his body on the ground, but after a moment it let out a huff and turned away, stomping off down the bridge.

Frantically Mat scrambled over the edge and back onto the overpass, sitting down next to the guardrail and letting out an explosive breath, watching the hulking behemoth as it stomped away. Then he peered back over the edge. It wasn't that much farther to the RPD building, and once he got there, Mat promised himself he'd go find the night watch room and take a nap. He felt like he'd earned it.

(JILL)

"Shit" said Jill, kneeling beside Rosa's body. The poor, emotional, stupid girl had a big hole in her forehead, like _something_ had been driven inside. Her eyes were wide open, but her facial muscles had already relaxed enough that Jill wasn't sure she'd even known what hit her. If nothing else, it had been a quick end. Jill slid her eyelids closed, then turned to the body next to hers.

It was a big…thing. That was the best description Jill could give it. She'd seen a mutated beetle once in her dad's garden growing up. The thing had two separate bodies, joined at the abdomen, with eight legs, the six a normal beetle would've had, plus two more attached to the body protruding from its shell, along with an extra head. The thing had appalled the eleven-year-old Jill then, and this creature appalled the twenty-four-year-old Jill now.

Somebody had riddled the thing with bullets. A few had hit Rosa as well, although Jill suspected those had been post mortem. Shell casings littered the ground, and Jill saw several other bodies. It looked like somebody had gone crazy, massacring anything foolish enough to get in their way.

Jill picked up one of the casings. It was long and narrow, almost like a .223 caliber, but not quite. She looked at the base, and her suspicions were confirmed.

5.7x28mm

FN HERSTAL

"Mat" she said quietly, rolling the casing in her hand for a moment, before letting it fall back into the street. This meant Mat, and probably Rebecca too, _were_ still alive somewhere in the city. In fact, it meant he, at least, had passed through here not so long ago. _And I'm gonna find him_ Jill decided. _I'm gonna find them both._

She moved on, past the bodies. She found an alley virtually choked with them, including a hunter that had apparently bled to death. There was a lot of ammo wastage here, and Jill was half surprised the area wasn't crawling with zombies from all the shooting.

Then she paused and walked back to the dead hunter. The green-skinned lizard's body was riddled with bullet holes; there was no question how it had died. Still, there was also a large indention on the monster's back, as if a gigantic boot had crashed down on the dying monster, stepping on it without a thought.

"Oh, you idiot" Jill muttered, stepping away from the dead hunter and toward a wrecked shop window. "Oh, you stupid idiot. What did you do?"

It was clear now why there hadn't been any zombies attracted to the sound of Mat's shooting, clear why there didn't seem to be any in the area at all. Something _else_ had shown up instead. Jill had no idea where Mat was now, but it was clear he'd beat a hasty retreat.

It was also clear something had followed him. Something big enough to smash its way through two solid brick walls, apparently without slowing down.

With that evidence in mind, Jill decided to do the only thing that made sense to her. She turned, and went in the opposite direction.

If Mat was still alive, he'd make his way to the RPD building. Even if he wasn't, there were likely to be other officers there, and at the very least, Jill would be able to get her hands on more ammunition, or maybe even a shotgun.

She turned and made her way down the street, watching the shadows even more closely, hating herself for hoping the monster, whatever it was, was still after Mat, and therefore not lurking around the corner for her.

**Sorry about the long gap. I've been really, really busy. I hope to start uploading once a week again.**

**-Godzillafan93**


	9. Wheels

Chapter 8: On Wheels

(ELZA)

Elza Walker was willing to take it was a small miracle that her bike was still where she'd left it: on its side on the curb. The dead policeman she'd swerved to avoid was gone (she tried not to think about where he might've gotten off to), as were all the other terrified people in the area. Elza hoped they'd gotten to safety, but she wasn't in a position to do anything about it if they hadn't.

Even more surprisingly, Elza's helmet was where she'd left it, too. Quickly she picked it up, giving it a once over, before planting it firmly on her head. The big plastic and metal headgear would severely restrict her vision, but Elza never rode without it. There was stupid, and then there was _stupid_, after all.

Elza picked up her bike, mounted it, then kicked it into gear. There was a purr as the engine (_Good girl_ she thought) came to live, the rear of the bike vibrating slightly. She gave it a little more gas, and was off, weaving her way down the street, around abandoned cars and a few zombies who stumbled forward, too slow to catch her but attracted to the noise.

She ran through possible escape options in her head as she rode. If she remembered correctly, she was in St. Michael's right now, on the other side of the River Circular. If she went east a few miles, she'd be able to go back to her dorm, but she decided against that immediately. The odds of the College being zombie free were pretty slim; she'd be better off heading just about anywhere else.

There was the RPD main HQ in Uptown. Elza thought about heading that way, but decided against it too. That jerk who'd picked her and Roy up earlier had claimed the RPD were still fighting there, but the odds were better than even they'd been pushed back or overrun in the intervening period. Elza could just as easily find a precinct full of zombies as living, breathing officers ready to help her.

_Think, think_. There had to be somewhere she could go to get help.

Elza checked her fuel gauge, and had another worry to add to her list.

There had to be a place she could go to help…before she ran out gas.

(DEAN)

"I think I may've buggered this up" John admitted, wiping sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand.

Dean kept his mouth shut. A, because he suspected this was simply British understatement, a stereotype he'd never encountered until everything had gone to hell, and B, because John and his merry band of mercenaries were at least trying to do the right thing, so there was no reason to castigate him. Still and all, it was hard.

They never managed to find the source of all that gunfire. Dean was beginning to suspect they'd imagined it in their desire to have some human contact. They hadn't seen anyone since breaking off from the RPD, and he was starting to feel like they were alone in Raccoon City.

Well, alone among the living, anyway. There were a fuck-load of dead people everywhere, and the vast majority weren't willing to sit around and behave. Dean's shoulder was starting to ache from the steady kick of the SPAS-12. He'd switched it over to semi-auto after his arm got sore from the constant pumping. He'd started to run out of shells and eventually slung his shotgun entirely, switching to the Beretta until the zombies clustered together enough to make the scattergun worthwhile.

Something must've happened here recently. There were a lot of dead bodies all over the place, suggesting a recent battle between the infected and…someone.

"Fuck!" exclaimed Mac, kneeling down beside two bodies in an alleyway next to a chain link fence. There'd been a brief respite in the hordes of undead, and they were taking a breather. Dean leaned up against a wall, shoving shells into his shotgun, then doing the same with his Beretta magazines.

"What?" Lewis asked, looking up from where he was doing the same thing with his assault rifle.

"Look" said Mac, kicking one body off the other. "It's that Rodriquez _chica_. Y'know, the crazy one?" He looked over at the other body. "And that's wha'sis face…Werbowski."

Lewis pushed off the wall and stepped over, nodding a little. "Sure is. Shit, man."

"How'd this happen?" Mac asked. "I mean, I always figured _nothin_' could kill Rosa Rodriquez. That bitch was tough as nails."

"Hey, look at this" said Lewis, kneeling down next to the bodies. "Those look like…gunshots."

Mac nodded. "Yeah. Whaddya think? Friendly fire?"

"Maybe…" said Lewis, shaking his head. "But you remember those fuckers we ran into earlier. Maybe their team bumped into the same guys." He paused, thinking. "What team was this, anyway?"

"I dunno" Mac replied. "Delta platoon I think. Not sure what squad though. Maybe Alpha…" He shook his head. "Everything's gone balls up today."

"Well, ah think ah can fix that" said John. After his declaration, he'd wandered off. Now he was back, with a disconcertingly happy expression on his face.

"What are you talking about?" Dean asked, pushing off the wall. He felt a slight twinge in his leg, but ignored it. The pills were starting to wear off, but he was loathe to ask for more. After all, he didn't like to think of himself as a pill popper, and he had no idea what was in the blasted things anyway.

"Come on" John said, still smiling. "Ah'll show ya."

(ELZA)

Zombies lurched out of alleys, stumbled off sidewalks, and clawed at rolled up car windows as Elza rattled past. She trying to play things safe, keeping her speedometer around thirty MPH. Anything less, and she might as well have been walking. Anything more and she risked getting blind sided by a zombie.

She kept her helmet on, although it was severely restricting her peripheral vision. On the other hand, if she had to speed up, or managed to get on the highway, she was going to be glad for the extra protection.

Her head was getting sweaty, though, her hair plastering itself to her forehead. So far, it hadn't gotten down into her eyes, a fact Elza was willing to accept as proof of divine intervention on her behalf, but that didn't make it any less irritating. Worse, her visor was just small enough she couldn't fit her hand in to do anything about it, meaning she'd have to stop and take off her helmet to fix her hair, and Elza decided that was a monumentally stupid way to die.

Elza checked her fuel gauge again. She was down to a quarter tank. She needed to find a gas station fast, before-

"Whoa!" she exclaimed, swerving as a short, skinny man in a bright yellow vest suddenly darted in front of her. She caught a brief flash of terror on the man's pale face before she lost control of the bike and skidded down the street. She felt a hot friction in her leg as the abrasive pavement scraped away at her pants, rubbing her skin raw, and let out a cry of pain. Fortunately, she hadn't been going very fast, so she ran out of momentum pretty quickly.

She lay in the middle of the road on her back for a minute, searing pain in her leg pulsing through her entire body. Dimly she saw the man she'd almost hit lean over her a minute, as if trying to see if she was still alive. Then, his head suddenly jerked up, and he turned and fled.

Elza gritted her teeth and slowly sat up, taking in the situation at a glance. Her bike was about ten feet away, minus the left side mirror, which had been smashed off and was sitting within an arm's reach. One of the tires was still spinning lazily, but overall it looked like it was still drivable.

There were zombies closing in, slowly stumbling toward her from all around. Gingerly she stood up, then cried out as fiery pain shot through her leg, dropping down on one knee for a moment. She wasn't in any condition to get back on her bike, thanks to that idiot.

With her left hand she yanked off her helmet, tossing it at one of the zombies. It hit the undead man in the chest, causing him to stumble back half a step and moan slightly, but not slowing down. Still, losing her helmet granted Elza a clearer field of vision, which she took advantage of as she drew her handgun and pulled back the hammer with her thumb.

She shot the nearest zombie in the leg, causing him to drop to one knee. Elza staggered painfully to her feet, wincing as more pain shot through her bad leg, but keeping the handgun up at eye level. She squeezed the trigger again, putting a bullet in the brain of a zombie less than five feet away, her head exploding from the 9mm round, her body dropping limply to the ground. Elza shifted targets and shot two more, opening up a narrow gap for herself, which she limped through, keeping a wary eye on the zombies stumbling forward to close it.

There weren't many options available to her. Elza stumbled down the road, managing to out pace the zombies, but only just. Already they'd managed to cut her off from her bike, and there was not way she'd be able to shoot her way through them to get to it. She needed another plan.

There was a loud howl from the pack of infected, and Elza turned to see a pair of rotten and decaying dogs trotting forward. One of them barked angrily, and the two quickened their pace. It was clear they knew she was injured and wouldn't take much trouble to run down.

Elza quickened her pace, but the dogs easily matched it. She half turned, firing the handgun behind her back, but her bullets merely chewed up the pavement. Then she felt the toe of her shoe scrap the ground, and found herself falling forward.

She landed on her face, but ignored her pain and rolled over, just in time to see the two dogs running toward her. She raised her handgun and fired without aiming, pulling the trigger repeatedly. She managed to hit one dog three times, the monstrous canine letting out a yelp of surprised pain before dropping to the ground. The other leapt at her from eight feet away, and Elza squeezed the trigger again, the slide locking back on an empty magazine.

There was a loud _boom_, and the dog was thrown backwards, its head exploding in a bloody flash. Elza looked behind her, to see a tall police officer with a big, scope-sighted rifle. Another person, a young woman about her age, was sprinting forward.

"C'mon!" she shouted, concern on her face. "Get up!"

Elza struggled to do so, but her leg gave out on her almost immediately and she cried out in pain, dropping back down to her knee.

"Chase!" the other woman shouted, pointing at her.

"Yeah, yeah" the man complained, slinging his rifle and hurrying over. Together, the two newcomers hoisted Elza on their shoulders and carried her down the street.

They hurried over to a nearby building, where another police officer, this one a woman with a big submachine gun, stood by, nervously eying the approaching horde.

"C'mon, c'mon" Elza heard her mutter as she was carried past. Then she was inside the dark building, the big metal door swinging closed with a bang.

"Over here" the first woman said, pointing to a stack of crates in one corner of the spacious warehouse. Gently, she and the male police officer, Chase, lowered her down.

"Here, let me take a look at your leg" said the girl, kneeling down beside her.

"I didn't get-"

"No, I know" replied the girl, not looking up. "We heard your motorcycle and saw the crash." She shook her head. "I think I even know the guy you swerved to miss. Don't worry, we'll get you all fixed up."

Elza looked around the warehouse. It was big and spacious, the center cleared out, a few wooden crates identical to the one she was sitting on stacked against the walls. Two staircases at either side led to a catwalk in the middle, which in turn joined a big, glass windowed office.

There were over a dozen people, as well. There were the two obvious police officers, along with a third, shorter one with blonde hair; plus a dark-haired man in a tattered suit; a teenage girl in clothing stained with both blood and what looked like paint; an older woman with a shotgun, plus what looked like about ten kids, all huddled nervously together in the back.

"Who are you?" she asked, looking around.

The redhead smiled, still not looking up from her examination of Elza's leg. "I'm Rebecca. The officer who saved your life is Chase. The blonde woman is Rita, and the one with the SMG is Karen. That guy over there is Billy, the girl is Maddie, and the other lady is Loretta, and the kids are…well, the kids are over there." She paused, tightening the gauze around her leg. "There, good as new, whoever you are."

"I'm Elza Walker" she replied, looking down at the already staining gauze. Her leg certainly didn't _feel_ good as new. "What's the plan?"

"Well, there's just too many of us to go back out on the street" Rebecca replied. "More importantly, there are too many of those _things_ out there. We don't have a choice. We have to wait here for rescue."

Elza looked around. The warehouse looked sturdy enough, but all the same, she couldn't help feeling like she'd just gotten herself locked in a trap.

The sounds of infected pounding on the walls outside didn't help matters any.

(DEAN)

They all stood around the large, light blue minivan, looking for all the world like neighborhood hoods contemplating the theft of a soccer mom's vehicle…if one ignored the various weapons they were carrying.

"I don't know…" Dean said, looking around nervously.

John snorted, clapping him roughly on the shoulder. "C'mon! It's just a matter of figurin'. See, way I see it, we need this a lot more'n whoever it belongs to, roit? Well, seein' as how the owner in question isn't here to complain, who's say no?"

That made a lot of sense to Dean. So much so that it bothered him. Sure, there was the expediency of it all, but damn it, he was supposed to be a _cop_. This was stealing, and there was supposed to be a law, and…

"Damn it!" he swore quietly, before turning to face John. "Fine. If you can hotwire the thing, then by all means let's take it."

John smiled a gape-toothed grin. "There! See, I knew ya'd come around!" Without another word he turned around and began to fiddle with the car door. Dean thought he was going to demonstrate some special mercenary's way of breaking into a car, but he soon found it wasn't much different from a normal thug's when the other man slammed the barrel of his dart gun through the passenger's side window, shattering the glass. Gingerly he reached inside and undid the lock, swinging the door open…and cursing fluently when he saw the steering wheel on the other side. Muttering irritably about "dyslexic Americans drivin' on the wrong side of the fuckin' road," he scrambled inside.

Then Dean got his next surprise. He'd expected John to hotwire the van, but instead he flicked out his combat knife, using it to quickly pry free the plastic housing on the ignition, before jamming the blade into the opening and twisting. With a violent sputter, the van's engine started.

"C'mon!" John shouted, waving them forward with one hand.

Then, like some sort of perverse prairie dog, a bloody child's head popped up from behind a bench. Followed by another, and another, until half a dozen clearly dead children were peeking over the bench, contrasting sharply with the graphic of the Mayor and his campaign slogan, "Warren for a Better, Safer Raccoon City." One kid's jaw was dislocated and hanging limply to the side.

"Oh Christ" John said, less a curse and more a prayer.  
Mac loudly vomited on the sidewalk. Dean wasn't willing to condemn him for it, since he was busy doing the same thing.

"Come on, come on!" shouted Lewis, waving to them. Dean wiped bile from his mouth with the back of his hand and hurried toward the rear passenger's door of the van, yanking it open and scrambling inside, reaching out and pulling Mac in behind him. Slowly other zombies began to stumble forward, the van's revving engine a clarion call.

"Fuck this" John growled, flooring the gas pedal and slamming the van into a dead traffic cop, dragging him under and leaving a bloody streak down the street as they drove.

"Where to, Officer?" John called over his shoulder.

Dean didn't have a good answer. He just shrugged. "Anywhere that's not here" he managed after a moment.

John chuckled. "Good enough for me."


	10. Knowing the Beast

Chapter 9: Knowing the Beast

(ROGER)

The first indication Roger had that City Hall was under attack coincided with the first explosion. He was still lying on the couch, sound asleep, when a sudden jarring crash shook the entire building, and he found himself unceremoniously dumped in the middle of the floor.

He groaned and picked himself up, shaking his head, his shaggy blonde hair falling into his eyes for a moment. He rubbed at his temple, his vision swimming from where his head had struck the edge of the table on his way down. A little farther to the left, and he might've knocked himself out, or busted his melon. As it was, he felt a searing pain just above his eyes.

Half blindly, he groped for his handgun, scattering old magazines as his hand patted the table. His fingers brushed it just as the Browning slid over the side, and he swore blearily, shoving the table aside and grabbing it.

Roger stood and looked to his left, to see Captain Grey peering around the corner. "Woods, is that you?"

"Yes sir" Roger replied, nodding slightly and then wincing when that sent a wave of pain through his skull. "What's going on-?"

"We're being attacked, that's what's fucking going on!" Grey shouted back, his teeth bared. "Get your shit together and come with me, on the double, patrolman!"

Roger said the only thing that seemed appropriate. "Yes sir." But he said it to Grey's back. The frenetic police captain had already taken off down the hall, clutching a CAR-15 tightly to his chest. Roger followed, still trying to figure out what was going on.

He heard a sudden, long burst of automatic weapons fire from the courtyard below, and paused to look out a window.

The first thing he noticed was that the main gates were gone, smashed in, like someone had gotten a huge hammer and started swinging until they fell. He couldn't see Kurt.

Then he saw men in dark uniforms sprinting around in the early morning light, and it occurred to him they probably weren't police.

He started to reach for his Browning, but realized this was far beyond the 9mm's effective range. A second later he threw himself flat as automatic rifle fire tore through the window he'd just been watching from. He began to crawl forward, pieces of broken wood dropping onto his back, shrapnel from the building's thin walls flying in all directions.

"Fuck this" he growled, before standing and sprinting the rest of the way, bullets flying just behind him. Roger whipped around a corner, almost falling downstairs but managing to catch himself at the last second.

He was on the second floor now. To his left was the kitchen. There was a cluster of holes in the wall next to the fridge, splattered with blood, which looked as though it had come from a shotgun. Timothy Driers was lying against the counter in a pool of his own blood, clearly dead. He hadn't even had the chance to draw his weapon.

The CAR-15 Roger had dropped off less than two hours ago was still on the table, so he picked it up, pulling the charging lever to ensure a round was in the chamber. Carrying a better weapon than his handgun, Roger headed forward.

Jim Yates and Nolan Stone were stretched out around the corner, professional-looking shots through both men's heads. It looked like someone had walked around the corner and surprised them. Whoever was attacking City Hall, they were pros.

Roger made his way to the first floor. Three officers had been stationed in the guard shack. They were all dead; the room itself shredded by automatic weapons fire before they'd even had the chance to shoot back.

Roger heard a shotgun blast from up above him, followed by two quick replies from an assault rifle. There were still police alive upstairs, so that meant Roger needed to be there as well.

He sprinted back up, flicking the carbine over to automatic. He rounded a corner, saw a black-clad soldier wearing a gas mask and carrying a SPAS-12, and didn't even hesitate, bringing the CAR-15 to his shoulder and putting three rounds into the man's chest. The terrorist, or whatever he was, let out a surprised grunt and dropped to the ground. Roger didn't spare him a passing glance, rushing past him and through a conference room. Naomi Breslin was lying in the wreckage of the table, as if she'd been thrown down with tremendous force. She was clearly dead, her head at an unnatural angle, terror still on her ghostly-pale face. Roger thought that was a shame, since Naomi was pretty cute, but pushed that aside for the moment.

Another soldier ran around the corner, clutching some sort of AK knock-off to his chest. He jumped when he saw Roger, starting to bring his weapon up, but the police officer shot him in the head with the carbine, moving on immediately.

He passed the bodies of two more soldiers, both riddled with bullets and neither of which had been there when he woke up. Figuring he was on the right track, he quickened his pace, heading for the stairs to the fourth floor.

Someone reached out and grabbed the barrel of his CAR-15, yanking it out of his hands, while at the same time kicking him in the gut. Roger fell backwards, staring at the wrong end of a SPAS-12 aimed at his head. He started to reach for his Browning, knowing the gesture would be useless, when two bullets flew threw the soldier's chest and he dropped like a stone.

"You okay, Woods?" Captain Grey asked, stepping forward. He was still holding his CAR-15, the barrel slightly smoking. Without waiting for an answer he kicked Roger his carbine. "Get yourself dusted off, patrolman, and come on. We've got to protect the Mayor."

"Shit" Roger muttered, snatching up the Colt firearm and following Grey around the corner into Warren's outer office. Grey had flipped some of the larger wooden chairs over, placing them where they'd be able to command the rest of the room. He'd shoved the rest of the furniture to either side, where the enemy wouldn't be able to use it for covered.

Laurence Fisher and Kendra Vu were already in position, weapons at the ready. He didn't know either of them very well; their reputations for shooting or police work certainly weren't legendary.

"Take your place, patrolman" Grey said coldly. "We've got to hold here."

"Where's everyone else?" Roger asked.

Grey didn't look up, but Roger could see his eyes were red. _Kurt must be dead_ he realized. He was impressed the Captain was handling the death of his son so well. _Compartmentalization _he decided.

"It's just us" he said. "Plus Porter in the Mayor's office. I sent her to act as a reserve if either of us stops a bullet."

_Great_ Roger thought. Molly Porter was a nice enough person, but she was a horrible shot, despite being a very aggressive driver. She'd tagged along as their  
"getaway" driver, since Grey hadn't wanted to trust anyone else on Raccoon City's bloody streets.

Roger propped the CAR-15 on the edge of the sofa, waiting for someone to wander into his irons. He sat there for a few minutes in that position, but just as his arms were beginning to get sore, he heard footsteps in the hallway.

Heavy footsteps.

"The hell?" he muttered.

"Quiet" hissed Grey through his mustache.

The footsteps came to an abrupt stop just outside the outer office's double doors. Roger felt sweat begin to bead on his hands, a salty trickle sliding down his forehead and stinging his eyes.

"C'mon" said Laurence to himself, ignoring Grey's repeated attempts at getting him to shut up. "Fuckin' come on!"

"Shut up, patrolman!" Grey practically growled, but Laurence was beyond caring.

They waited for what seemed like an eternity, but no attack came. The four officers exchanged looks.

"I-I'll go check" said Laurence, his face white now that combat had apparently passed. "Watch my back."

Cautiously he stood up, slowly and deliberately making his way to the door, his MP-5 at his shoulder, his whole body hunched around the SMG. Cautiously he reached for the doorknob-

There was a loud crash as a huge…something smashed through the door, splinters flaying Laurence alive. He screamed in terror, falling backward, but was still alive as two ham-sized fists were brought down on his face, flattening it like an extremely bloody pie.

"Open fire!" Grey shouted, as he and the other two police opened fire on the giant that had just smashed its way through the wall. Bullets struck the monster's body, but didn't seem to have much affect on the creature, which shrugged them off as if they were nothing as it slowly advanced.

The thing was at least seven feet tall, clad in a strange, off-white trench coat and matching boots. Its hairless face wore no expression, its eyes hidden by a pair of futuristic, green colored sunglasses. Roger shot at them, but his rounds simply ricocheted off the juggernaut.

The monster stepped forward, surprisingly fast, flipping over Kendra's chair, causing her to scream in surprise as her cover was suddenly gone. She tried to run, but the giant swung its arm, slamming her into the wall with a loud crack, the drywall cracking from the impact. Kendra grunted, and didn't get up.

With an angry shout, Grey rushed the monster, firing his CAR-15 from the hip. The giant turned, as if confronting a minor annoyance, and grabbed Grey's head in one of its huge hands, lifting him off the ground. Grey struggled…for a few seconds. Then the giant squeezed its fist, and his head popped like an overripe tomato, spewing blood and brain matter in all directions.

Roger stood up, feeling the overwhelming desire to get away. He started to run for Kendra, realizing she was probably still alive, and figuring they'd probably have a better chance together than alone.

He saw something sailing toward him out of the corner of his eye, and saw the giant had thrown Grey at him. The police captain's body struck him with enough force to smash them both through the locked doors of Mayor Warren's inner office. Roger struck the ground hard, and saw stars.

Slowly, painfully, he reawoke, his vision blurry and tinged with red.

The first thing he noticed was Molly Porter crouching in the corner, a Mac-10 held at the ready. She saw that Roger was awake, and winked at him. Roger tried to return the gesture, but found he couldn't quite move.

Two soldiers hurried around the corner, taking positions at either side of the door, AKMs at the ready. Molly brought up her weapon, ready to cut them down with the .45 caliber machine pistol, when another man entered.

He was tall, with long, platinum blonde hair and arrogant, Russian features. He wore a long black trench coat and boots, putting Roger immediately in mind of the giant outside.

Roger saw Grey's Browning, the dead man's weapon still in its holster and almost directly in his face. He tried to reach for it, his fingers tensing, but not wanting to move on their own.

Without hesitating a second, the third man brought up his handgun, a German model which resembled Han Solo's gun in _Star Wars_, and shot Molly twice with it. Roger heard the other office gasp in surprise, the handgun's heavy bullets shattering her frame and causing her to drop to the ground. Without a second glance, the newcomer stepped past her body and headed for the Mayor's desk.

"Comrade Mikhail, why are you hiding from us?" he asked, as if he was taking to a naughty child. Without waiting for a response, he kicked the desk over, revealing the huddled form of Michael Warren underneath.

Roger hadn't seen the Mayor before today, but his first impression of the man wasn't a very good one. Michael Warren had been hiding under his desk like a coward, and at some point during the night's adventures, had wet himself.

"W-who are you?" he stammered, scrambling away from the big Russian.

The newcomer shook his head sadly. "Mikhail, Mikhail, Mikhail. You know very well who I am, or at least, who I represent."

Roger couldn't see very well, but he thought the mayor's eyes widened a little.

"Y-you mean?"

"That's right. Now, I have two very important questions. Where is Talos, and where is the queen?"

"What? I don't know what you're talking about-"

"Comrade, I advise against you lying to me" the big Russian answered. "Things will go badly if you do."

"But I-"

The Russian sighed. "If you will not tell me, Comrade Mikhail, maybe you will be willing to tell my brother. Vanya, would you mind asking Comrade Mikhail something for me?"

There were heavy footsteps, and a second later, the other giant entered the room, towering over the Mayor beside the Russian.

"Vanya, Comrade Mikhail is being…uncooperative. Why don't you see if you can persuade him?"

"Vanya" didn't answer, didn't give any sign of its acknowledgement. It just stepped forward toward the Mayor, who let out a terrified shriek.

"No, no, wait!" he screamed. "Wait! I'll talk, I'll talk!"

That seemed to please the Russian. "Where are they, Comrade? I have not got all day."

"The…the dead factory!" the mayor shouted. "That's where they are, I swear! Now please, please, don't let that thing kill me!"

The Russian raised a hand, and Vanya backed off. "Thank you Comrade Mayor" he said.

Warren let out a sigh of relief. "Whew. Now, what do you want me to-?"

BLAM BLAM

Without warning, the Russian leveled his handgun and shot the mayor twice before he could even finish his question. "Come, Comrades" he said, gesturing to the two soldiers at the door. "We have much to do."

Roger's hand finally edged to the grip of Grey's Browning. He wrapped his fingers around it, jerking the weapon from its holster, determined to shoot the big Russian…only to find the other man was one step ahead of him.

The last thing Roger Woods saw was the twin muzzle flash of the man's handgun. He felt the impact of the first bullet entering his chest, but the pain of that was quickly erased by the second one entering his brain.


	11. Convergence of Three

Chapter 10: The Convergence of Three

(JILL)

Jill had her first stroke of luck at the bottom of a winding flight of stairs, in the cubby hole office of an apartment building's caretaker. She'd sprinted around the corner when she heard the frantic cry of another person (a cry that sounded somewhat familiar), only to see the person she'd come to rescue sprinting madly away as a horde of zombies poured out of an open door. It hadn't taken the undead versions of her fellow citizens long to figure out they had a better chance of catching her than the man running away.

It hadn't taken her long to kill them, at least. There were about eight, and Jill had found two Beretta magazines on the dead body of a patrolman, which she shoved into the pocket of her skirt. Thus blessed with this influx of ammo, Jill felt justified in her splurge on this particular group of zombies. Besides, they were in her way.

After dropping them, she'd found the man she'd been trying to save in the first place had already bolted, a fact which caused her to lapse into profanity her father would've been ashamed of. Then, with a fatalistic shrug, she'd decided to check out the building the zombies had come from.

There was another, swaying back and forth at the bottom of the stairs. Jill shot him in the head, wincing at the echo of her handgun's report, and waiting a minute, her back pressed against the wall, while the ringing in her ears died down a little.

At the bottom she'd found a little work area, maintained by a man for whom the end of the world had apparently always been just around the corner. In addition to a vice grip, a table saw, and various other tools, there was also a box of 12 gauge shotgun shells, thirty loose rounds of 9mm ammo, and a tool for reloading spent shell casings, complete with gunpowder.

Lying against his workbench was the man himself, half his head blasted away, a nasty looking gash across his stomach already wriggling with maggots. Clutched in his hands was a Benelli M3, this one with a sawn of barrel and a butt cap in place of a stock.

Jill bent down and pried the weapon out of the man's dead fingers, racking the pump and sliding a shell into the chamber. If she recalled correctly, the weapon had an internal magazine capable of holding seven shells, but the only way for her to be sure would be to clear the weapon out herself and see.

Whoever the guy was, he'd been pretty well stocked. The Benelli had four shells left, and there were two other boxes, which eyed greedily. Unfortunately, she didn't have the carrying space to take them, but after a moment, she found a tan fanny pack, which she attached to her waist, before shoving as much ammo as she could inside. Rummaging through the table, she also found a nylon strap, which would work perfectly on the shotgun.

_I can do this_ she told herself, gripping the Benelli tightly as she made her way back upstairs.

Back on the street, things looked…about as bad as they had a few minutes ago. There were cars parked randomly on in the middle of the roadway, newspapers scattered all over the place. A squad car burned to her left. Another car had hit a fire hydrant, water spewing merrily into the air, drenching the two dead bodies slumped over the vehicle's hood. Overhead, Jill could see the shapes of crows as they lazily circled the street. They didn't _look_ infected, but after her experiences in July, Jill wasn't interested in taking any chances.

She made her way down the street, keeping to the shadows as much as possible, her eyes trained on the few other people on the street with her. She was the only one living, after all, and things would end badly if the others figured that out.

She could see a doorway up ahead. It looked like some sort of bar, oddly familiar…_Jack's_, she remembered. It was a favorite watering hole for off duty cops, the proprietor being a former police sergeant himself. If she took things slow, she ought to be able to get there without anyone seeing her…

(MAT)

Mat knew he'd probably bruised a rib or something when the Nemesis had chased him down and used him like a dog toy. His chest was on fire, and he was pretty sure it wasn't supposed to be that way. He needed to get someplace where he could check himself out, and that meant getting out of this damn back alley.

He thought he saw Brad darting around a corner at one point, and quickened his pace. He rounded a corner to see the STARS pilot shoving a zombie back onto a basketball court, before turning and running in the other direction. Since that left Mat with an entire half-court full of undead, he couldn't immediately pursue.

Remembering what had happened the last time Mat got carried away with his firepower, he slung his P90 and drew Rain's knife. He wasn't especially good with the weapon, but…it'd have to do.

The blade slid surprisingly well into the back of one zombie's head, the knife severing the dead man's brainstem and causing him to stiffen like an over starched sock. The others turned to see what had happened, though, and Mat realized this wasn't really a viable strategy.

Instead he placed his right foot on the zombie's butt and kicked the still twitching man at his fellows, comically knocking them over. Mat could almost here the sound of a prat fall. He didn't have time for slap stick humor, though, and hurried on his way, shifting the knife to his left hand and drawing the Colt, resting one wrist on the other.

There was a door at the far end of the alley. Mat had no idea where Brad had gotten, but by now he didn't care. He had no desire to hunt the pilot down; if the man ran off and got himself eaten, Mat had reached the point where he honestly wouldn't be very upset.

The door opened easily enough, and Mat stepped inside, to discover he'd found a bar. That meant he had access to alcohol in case he needed to sterilize anything, and…

Mat's thoughts were interrupted by the sound of someone opening the opposite door.

(JILL)

Fortunately, the door wasn't locked, which meant Jill could pretty quickly excuse herself from the street, hurrying into the bar and shutting it behind her. It was then that she realized she wasn't alone.

"Mat?" she exclaimed, seeing the younger man leaning against the opposite wall. "What are you doing here?"

"Ah, so she's decided to come out at last" he replied, a tinge of bitterness in his voice. "I'd ask you the same thing, but I suppose we can all just be grateful you've decided to grace the city with your presence."

"What are you talking about?" Jill asked. His tone was really starting to piss her off. She was already not quite as happy to see him as she had been. "And what happened to you? You look like shit."

Mat snorted. "Well, I just got that knocked out of me, so in a way it actually makes sense."

"What are you talking about?"  
"You mean you haven't seen him?" Mat looked surprised. He lifted one hand over his head. "Tall, pale, and ugly? Big fella with a nasty left hook and a drive to live I find I admire. The new and improved Tyrant model? Surely you know what I'm talking about?"

Jill shook her head. "No. Sorry."

Mat shook his head. "That just figures. He's not even supposed to be after _me_. He's out for you guys, STARS. Nasty bastard, too. We dropped an armored car on him earlier, and he didn't even slow down."

"What are you talking about?"

Mat sighed. "You know, I thought it couldn't get much worse after we got back. I mean, we got suspended, no one believed us, Rebecca and Brad leaving. Then the shit really hit the fan, and everything's gone to hell in one big hurry." He looked up at Jill. "What I'm talking about is Umbrella's really nasty little vendetta against us. They've sent in…something to clean up this mess, and specifically make sure we don't talk. He's unstoppable, and he's after anyone who was at the mansion. You, me, Chris, Barry, Rebecca. Hell, the thing even went after Brad." He sighed and pushed off the wall. "Well, you'll meet him soon enough. He's got an uncanny knack for finding us right when we don't want him to." He started to walk away, heading for the door she'd used to get in.

"Where are you going?" she asked, starting to follow.

Mat turned and glared at her. "We're gonna die here, Jill. Just accept that. It's inevitable. If the Nemesis doesn't get us, then the zombies or one of the other million and one abominations running the streets in packs will. Just numbers. We don't stand a chance." He sighed. "I'm going to find Rebecca. I don't care what you do, so long as you don't try to follow me. I'm already on that thing's shit list, but I suspect if we're together, it'll be like free beer at a top gear rally. So go home, take a nap, cry in the corner for all I care. In the long run, it won't make a difference." He headed for the door. "If you'll excuse me, I've got to go find my best friend."

He paused a last time, and looked at her over his shoulder. "I mean it. Don't follow me. It's too dangerous for us to travel together right now. But, if you can make it…I'm going back to the precinct. There's something there I need. If you find me there, maybe we can work something out." Without waiting for a response, he pushed the door open and left.

Jill stared after him for a moment. Whatever had happened to him, it was clear he was blaming her for it. She didn't know how to fix that, and didn't know if she even could.

Even worse was his attitude. Mat had always struck her as an optimist. She found that endearing, in a slightly annoying kid-brother kind of way. But something had shaken him and caused him to lose hope. And this Nemesis thing he'd mentioned.

Jill shook her head. "Shit just keeps piling on" she muttered.

(MAT)

The journey to the RPD building wasn't especially hard for Mat. Given his generally bad state of health, he could fake pretty easily being a zombie, walking slowly and with a stumbling gait that wasn't at all faked. That wasn't to say he was _trying_ to pass himself off as infected; he wasn't stupid enough to think he could actively bluff the zombies into thinking he was one of them, but unless they got a closer look at him, they didn't seem to be any wiser for it.

That in mind, Mat stuck to the main roads. In the wide open spaces, he could see trouble coming from farther away, meaning he could prepare one of his limited responses.

Just because he felt a little safer on the main roads, didn't mean he felt _safe_. On the contrary, the twenty minutes he spent on the road to the precinct were the most terrifying of Mat Dawson's life. He suspected he could still outmaneuver the zombies wandering the street, but if a hunter or, God help him, the Nemesis showed up again, he knew he'd be screwed.

Fortunately, that didn't happen. He had to assume the monster was off hunting elsewhere. While that was good news for him, it probably sucked for whoever the thing _was_ bothering. At this point, so long as it wasn't Rebecca (or Billy, since he was feeling charitable), Mat didn't really care.

He approached the RPD building from the back. He remembered from the night before how thick the infected had been at the front and northern perimeters, so he figured he'd be safest coming in at with as much of the building as possible between he and the hottest areas.

Unfortunately, there was a reason the zombies hadn't tried this side, one he hadn't taken into account when he made his plans. Namely, the nine-foot tall solid metal fence surrounding the RPD motor pool, part of the precinct's expansion, which also included the SWAT offices, his current destination.

A zombie shambled past Mat as he leaned against the wall. He was beginning to think the infected relied not on some supernatural sixth sense to find prey, but were more like sharks: they attacked, or at least pursued, anything moving at a certain speed. If he could avoid moving quickly, they'd probably keep ignoring him.

Unfortunately, that realization didn't do Mat much good, since it still left him on the other side of the big metal fence, with no way to open the two large, metal gates. They usually required a big engine to slide open, but since the power was out, that didn't do him any good in the here and now.

Then Mat had an idea. It was going to be painful, but then, so was just about everything else he'd gone through in the past day and a half, and if it paid off, he'd have access to ammo, supplies, and potentially even a big enough gun to take down his newest groupie.

Turning, Mat edged down the fence, his P90 hanging loosely against his stomach, his right hand gripping it. If need be, he could have the weapon up and ready, but the .224 was a loud cartridge, so he'd prefer not to fire if he didn't have to.

He found what he was looking for readily enough. The tree he picked out was wide enough he figured he'd have an easier time climbing it. Even better, there were plenty of low branches he could use to get a leg up. Ignoring the pain in his sides, he began his ascent.

Now safely off the ground, Mat encountered the second problem in his great plan to infiltrate the RPD building. Namely, it appeared whoever had been the groundskeeper for the precinct had thought ahead, and seen fit to trim all the over hanging branches, meaning Mat couldn't just edge his way along like a heavily armed squirrel and drop ever-so-lightly onto the station's grounds. Instead, he'd have to jump.

Even better, there was barbed wire on the fence, meaning if he missed…

"Better not miss then" he muttered, gathering himself, taking a moment to steel his resolve, and then lunging into space.

He made it…almost.

Mat felt something tearing at his back on the way down, and realized his jacket had gotten snagged on the barbed wire. He shrugged out of it just before he managed to hang himself from the fence, only to learn the P90's strap was looped around his jacket…and it was on its way to see his face.

Mat turned his head at the last second, so the weapon only smacked into his cheek, rather than his teeth. Twisting a little, he managed to get his arm out of the strap, before using his momentum to pull his SMG and the jacket off the fence. He landed with a groan on the hard pavement, remembering to bend his knees at the last second, absorbing the impact, which nonetheless jarred his teeth.

Still, he'd made it, and that was the important thing.

Mat slid back into his jacket, taking stock of his surrounding as he did so. The stretch of blacktop between the RPD building and the annex containing the SWAT and aviations branches was surprisingly zombie free. Mat was willing to chock that up to the area's ridiculous fences, coupled with the fact that the RPD had evacuated the building, in an effort to concentrate as many guns as possible at the precinct.

There were several empty vehicles sitting around, including two armored cars and a few other squad cars. Those would've come in handy when the time had come to evacuate, had Branagh been willing to pull out when they needed to…and had the engines in each vehicle been repaired. Unfortunately, they weren't, and even more unfortunately, only one competent mechanic (the short southerner named Rita) had still been alive by the time everything hit the fan. There just hadn't been time to put everything back together, forcing Rebecca and Rita to go on their little expedition to turn the station's gas lines back on, and leading to the deaths of dozens more officers trying to hold on in the meantime.

Mat wasn't especially happy with the RPD's leadership. Pretty much, it had been shit. There had been Albert Wesker, who was homicidal. There'd been Peyton Welles, who was also nuts, even if in the end he'd gone down fighting. And Marvin Branagh…well, Mat didn't have an especially high opinion of him either, but he was almost certainly a zombie, and Mat didn't believe in speaking (or thinking) ill of the undead.

The point being, Mat suspected things would've gone differently had someone else been in charge. Granted, he had no idea who that someone might've _been_, but surely there was a way things could've turned out for the better.

He made his way to the annex building. He hadn't been inside since he'd been "reinstated" at the start of this nightmare; he hadn't set foot in the offices of Special Weapons and Tactics since July. He still had stuff inside; more importantly, he still had ammo for the P90 there. 5.7x28mm was a bizarre enough caliber that it wasn't readily available just anywhere, and those places that _did_ sell it did so at ridiculous prices. Mat had spent good money on his bullets, and he intended to get his money's worth out of each and every one of them.

The annex wasn't ever meant to function as a police station; originally, it had just been an apartment building the precinct took over when they ran out of space at the main building. They'd moved SWAT out of the cubbyhole they used to be in (before moving STARS in), along with the pilots. It wasn't as…nice looking as the main station. It was purely functional, without the ridiculous art museum feel of the main building.

Mat headed upstairs, making a right turn at the armory. There he grabbed a couple of P90 magazines, as well as a box of .45 ACP. He didn't have the Browning anymore, so grabbing 9mm ammo made no sense. On a whim, he grabbed a couple M14 magazines, sticking the lumpy 20-round feed devices in the pocket of his cargo pants. He had a feeling Chase would appreciate them.

Then he pulled a small, silver key out of his pocket. There was a lock box in the armory, where they kept weapons confiscated either because they were illegal to own or because a suspect had been carrying it when they were arrested. Most of the guns inside were either plain ridiculous (like the WWII bazooka they'd taken from some white supremacists) or not especially useful in the current situation (like the AKM they'd snatched from a group of hard-core left-wing terrorists, who apparently had realized 7.62mm Russian ammo was…uncommon in Colorado). But there was one weapon he knew he'd be able to get some traction out of.

(JILL)

There was a fire on Jill's left. It looked like it might've been a pharmacy at one point. It was somewhat satisfying for her to see the Umbrella logo aflame…but it was only a petty kind of satisfaction. Not even everyone who worked for Umbrella deserved _this_ walking nightmare.

The flames weren't too close to the edge of the alley Jill was using to skirt the edges of the devastation. So far, she'd managed to avoid the infected…

So far.

Jill's eyes widened at the sight of two dark shapes darting out of the fire.

"Fuck…" Jill muttered, her hand tightening on the Samurai Edge. She didn't have time for this.

The two infected dogs had probably not been in the best of shape when the tyrant virus got hold of them, but the mere fact that they'd been lit on fire ruined any last chance they might've had for passing as living.

The first dog leapt out of the fire…and met Jill's first bullet with its forehead. It let out a yelp of surprise and was thrown back into the inferno. The other didn't even slow down, driven by its single-minded desire for her.

Jill had had a lot of experience with single-minded desire involving her. That was what she'd liked about Edward; he wasn't a stereotypical dick. And monsters like this had taken him from her.

Jill didn't even think. She lashed out with her right leg, her boot connecting with the dog's body. It let out a yelp, slamming into the wall. It tried to stand, but she didn't give it a chance, firing her handgun again and again, the infected dog's body ravaged by the 9mm.

Jill took a step back, pressing herself against the wall, herself shuddering a little. She'd almost lost it there. She thought she'd dealt with all this a few weeks ago, but it was starting to look like she hadn't, and damn it, she didn't have time to deal with it now.

She unslung the shotgun and made her way down the street. Fortunately, she'd managed to avoid the…thing Mat had said was after them. From what he'd said, it was hunting him mercilessly, but so far she'd avoided it. She hoped to keep it that way.

There were no infected on the final stretch to the RPD building. There _was_ a taxi rather indecently mounting a fire hydrant a few feet away from the main gate. Jill stepped past it, her boots splashing in the water already building up in the gutter.

She pushed the gate open, stepping inside. She noted the skid marks on the curb in front of the station's main door. It looked like the RPD had pulled out in a hurry. Mat was harboring some resentment for her not being there, but it looked like things had gone pretty well…

The sound of the gate swinging open behind her caused Jill to whirl around, starting to bring the shotgun up, but felt like an idiot a second later when she realized who had surprised her.

"Brad!" she exclaimed, surprisingly happy to see the Alpha team pilot. He was certainly a pain in the ass, but all things considered, it was good to see him again.

"Jill!" he said, his eyes darting around frantically. "Hurry, he's-!"

Jill didn't get to hear what was following Brad, mainly because the thing in question chose that moment to leap out of nowhere, landing in the circle drive between them.

"Ah!" Brad shouted, staggering backward. He drew his handgun, a big Samurai Edge model with a compensator, but after firing only two shots he realized that was useless and huddled against the far wall. "Jill, help!" he screamed.

Under different circumstances, Jill would've rolled her eyes at the absurdity of the whole situation, but these were _not_ other circumstances. She was too taken aback by the…thing in front of her.

Mat had described the thing as Umbrella's new Tyrant. About the only concession Jill could make to that was that the thing was tall. Everything else was so wholly new, so wholly terrifying as to be beyond compare.

The monster stalking toward Brad was big and broad, its wide shoulders tapering straight down its huge arms, its ham-sized fists covered in pale flesh. Its bald head was focused intently on the hapless pilot, but Jill could see open sores in its sickly scalp, and what looked like massive, ropey sinews covering emerging from the huge black trench coat it wore wrapped tightly around its huge body. "STARS" it growled, its voice artificially synthesized and yet strangely primal.

_Oh God_ Jill thought. _It talks._

The thing reached one of its huge hands out, grabbing Brad by the head and lifting the struggling pilot into the air, his feet kicking frantically as he struggled in vain to be free. The monster bent its other arm at the elbow, a strange sixth finger flailing around at the heel of its hand. Suddenly, that extra appendage stiffened, shaping itself into a disgusting, red-colored spear. The monster raised its arm to the level of Brad's head, preparing to shove the tentacle into his face. Jill looked away-

BLAM!

BLAM!

Jill's head whipped around to see Mat standing on the front steps of the precinct, a monstrous yet somehow comfortingly familiar magnum revolver in his hands.

The Tyrant bellowed in rage, two large, .44 inch holes in its arm. It dropped Brad to the ground, who sat on the ground staring up at the monster in terror. Then, without a second thought he turned and bolted, scrambling for the gate so quickly he forgot his handgun.

"Damn it" Mat almost whined as he watched the pilot flee, as if this wasn't the first time such a thing had happened. The Tyrant turned its full attention to him, though, striding purposefully forward, its wide, lipless mouth skinning back across its rancid teeth.

Mat opened fire, four more shots from the revolver into the thing's chest that didn't do more than cause the Tyrant to stumble a little. He pressed a switch on the side of the magnum, dropping the spent casings from the cylinder, pulling out a handful of bullets. "_Shit-_" he swore, the word long and drawn out as he watched the monster ball up its fist to slam it down on him.

Jill didn't hesitate, bringing her shotgun up and blasting the thing point-blank in the face. The Tyrant stumbled a little, surprised by this onslaught. It looked between her and Mat for a moment, as if confused as to who it wanted to kill more. It didn't get a chance to make up its mind, Mat firing a burst into its face from his P90.

"C'mon, Jill, help me kill this thing!" he shouted, squeezing the trigger on his SMG until the magazine went dry. Jill didn't need any second urging, firing the shotgun into the monster's face as quickly as she could.

The Tyrant stumbled back under their combined onslaught, trying to raise a hand to shield its face. Then, it stopped, swaying a little before collapsing to the side, its massive body causing the sidewalk to buckle under its weight.

Mat lowered the P90, breathing heavily as he leaned against the RPD building. After a moment, he cautiously made his way forward, looking at the inert monster. "Shit" he said quietly, before turning to Jill. "He's not down." He paused, thinking that over. "Well, he's down, but he's not out." He reached down, picking up Brad's handgun and stuffing it in his waist band. "C'mon, I'd rather be someplace else when this bastard wakes up."

Without waiting for a response, he turned and headed for the precinct. After a brief glance at the Tyrant, Jill followed.

End of Part I


	12. Interlude 1: Potomac

Interlude 1: Potomac

Senator Ron Davis (I-WA, as CSPAN would've added after his name) waddled his way to his car. A short, somewhat dumpy man with a mean disposition and a face only a mother could…tolerate, the veteran congressman for Washington State was nothing if not punctual. He always left his residence in Alexandria at 7:03 AM, a thermos of coffee in one hand, a folded breakfast pastry in the other, a newspaper folded under one arm.

In these respects, he wasn't that much different from a wealthy businessman. Granted, someone _drove_ him to work, rather than relying on public transit or driving himself, and rather than carrying a copy of the _New York Times _or _The Washington Post_, his paper was _The Early Bird_, a collection of headlines and articles from various American and British news rags put together by the government for those in the intelligence community. Still, he was just like any other man leaving home for on a work day.

Davis somewhat enjoyed the commute to work. It gave him a chance to compose himself, sipping his coffee (black, and extra strong), going over the events of the previous day so he was better prepared to face the workload ahead of him.

He was sitting for about a minute and a half, paper unfolded in front of him, before he realized he wasn't moving. "What's the hold up, Norton?" he growled at the man in the front seat. Davis didn't own a limo, but he liked to pretend he did; thus, the retractable wall between himself and his security guard/driver. "Let's go!" he snapped, raping the Plexiglas with his fingers.

Slowly, the wall slid down, revealing a skinny man in an expensive business suit and tinted sunglasses. He reached up and slid the glasses down his nose, revealing cold, grey eyes "I think you're going to be late today, Senator."

Davis's eyes widened. "You-! What are you doing here?"

The man smiled thinly. "There's been an incident, Senator, and it appears our plans need to be accelerated. The lab in Raccoon City has been compromised, and a biohazard has occurred."

Davis felt his face drain of color. "My God…How bad?"

"As bad as can be imagined. Governor Burkholder called out the National Guard, and the city is under quarantine. The Army has sent teams of Rangers inside, but contact was lost with them just before midnight, and we assume the worst."

"Jesus" Davis said, somewhere between a curse and a prayer.

"Overall, this is good news" the other man replied. "Umbrella will burn for this; I can assure you of that. All that remains is deciding who's going to pick up the pieces."

"What do you want me to do?" Davis asked, trying to regain his composure. He needed to assume his poker face, but this was all happening too fast.

"There's really very little we'll need to change about our original plan" the other man replied. "The strike team we'd assembled, along with the alternates, can be inserted into the city all at once instead of at the key location. We'll need to modify their orders to account for the current situation, but there's no reason we can't come out ahead here. In fact, if we play our cards right, we'll probably come out looking like the good guys."

"What do you want me to do?" Davis repeated, adding a little steel to his voice.

"As I said, not much more than you were already willing to" the other man replied. He elaborated for a few more minutes, When he was done, he paused. "Can you manage it?"

"Of course I can!" Davis snapped. "What kind of idiot do you take me for?"

The other man didn't answer; he just smirked a little. Davis growled, but didn't say anything. He didn't know quite how this man fit into the conspiracy he was more or less a major wheel in, so irritating him probably wasn't a good idea.

"Very well, Senator. It's probably time you went to work, wouldn't you say?"

By the time Davis got to work, his coffee was cold and his pastry had gone stiff. It was a good thing the DC police couldn't ticket a Congressman driving to work, because he probably would've earned a black mark on his otherwise spotless record. As it was, he was uncharacteristically late.

As a sign of just how dire the situation was, no one commented on his tardiness. There weren't TVs inside either House of Congress, but there were several set up in the hallways outside. Scrolling across each were more or less the same scenes: US Army and National Guard vehicles maintaining checkpoints outside a medium-sized city, helicopters zipping in and out of billowing clouds of smoke, a few bedraggled people stumbling down the highway out of the city.

Messages scrolled across the bottom of the screen. Most were generic, without really revealing much in the way of anything. _INDUSTRIAL ACCIDENT IN COLORADO. GOV. BURKHOLDER ORDERS QUARINTINE. RESCUE EFFORTS UNDERWAY. _There were a few, more interesting ones, such as _AL-QUAIDA CLAIMS RESPONSIBILITY FOR CHEMICAL SPILL _and _RUMORS OF NEW DISEASE AMONG SURVIVORS._

Davis knew he already had a better idea of what was going on than anyone on the news, but there was a difference between _knowing_ and _seeing_.

About twenty minutes later, everyone was called into a Joint Session. Settling into his chair, Davis could tell who else was in the know and who wasn't. The ones who looked confused or determined were those who didn't know more than the average citizen. The ones who looked scared…they were the elected few. Davis wondered if they were members of the same cabal as himself, or those who'd hitched themselves to the already doomed ship that was Umbrella, Inc.

The voice of the Speaker of the House snapped Davis's eyes forward. "Ladies and Gentlemen, the President of the United States" she intoned, a certain smugness in her voice suggested she both knew _exactly_ what was going on and further, was anticipating the firestorm about to rain down on the President and his party.

Davis settled into his chair, appearing to focus on the President, but he really only listened with half an ear. The rest of his mind was focused on his own plans, the wheels within wheels of the conspiracy he'd been a part of since his third term in Congress. Overall, he had to agree with his contact. Things weren't going according to plan, but they were going to work out just fine.


	13. Bad Blood

Part II: Necropolis

Chapter 11: Waste

(DAVID)

"Alright, let's try to figure out where we are" said the cop, standing at the top of a long flight of stairs leading down. To his left was the continuation of those steps, leading back up, but terminating sharply in another collapsed ceiling.

David King leaned against the wall, the FAL he'd purloined from a soldier who wouldn't be needing it anymore slung across his back, putting all his weight on his left leg, his right foot resting on the sterile white surface. With practiced ease he flicked open his lighter, singeing the end of the cigarette clutched between his teeth. Slowly he sucked in a breath, then blew it out, the smoke sucked into one of the vent shafts overhead.

David liked to keep up a veneer of indifference. He'd found it gave him an advantage if others thought he just didn't give a fuck about everything, and the zombie apocalypse that had overtaken Raccoon City had just given him the chance to reinforce that.

David wasn't especially attached to the mountain town. He'd come here after some…admittedly bad decisions he'd made back in Denver, the end result of which had been deliberately fire bombing his own house, along with the body of the hitman who'd been just one step too slow for his own good. Everyone had assumed the dead man found in the wreckage had been David Foster, and since that had been his entire plan, David Foster had ceased to exist that night. A few hours later, David King, natural handyman, had shown up in Raccoon City, where he scored a gig as assistant custodian at the Apple Inn, a job that had eventually turned into a full-time, senior position, complete with his own free room. He'd never looked back, never resorted to any of the skills of his previous life…until tonight.

David was a lifelong smoker, and given how dangerous his previous existence had been, he'd figured cancer probably wouldn't kill him before someone else did. His stint at the Apple Inn (almost certainly over now) hadn't encouraged him to quite the habit, or even moderate it, but David had never really considered himself an addict; he smoked to maintain an image, nothing more. Still, as the subway cars had finally settled into position after flattening the biggest damn bug he'd ever seen, David had only one thought in his head.

_I need a fuckin' cigarette_.

Mark, the big black guy with the oh-so-caricature-esque accent was still shouldering along the wounded soldier, Karl. The other one, Dustin, was a few feet away, his eyes darting around nervously, as if he expected danger to come from either anywhere, or everywhere at once. Even after everything they'd been through, David wasn't _that_ paranoid.

After a few more drags, he sighed and flicked the cigarette onto the floor, stubbing it out with his foot. Gun for hire, gang soldier, enforcer, button man, David Foster might have been, but one thing you could _never_ say about him was he was a goddammed arsonist…assuming you excluded his last act under that name.

Having gotten his fix, David pushed himself off the wall and squared his shoulders, unslinging the battle rifle and clicking the safety off. This one only had two settings: semi and safe; David figured, if given time and the right tools, he could've converted it to bump-fire on full auto, but figured that probably wouldn't be necessary. The FAL, after all, kicked like a very pissed off mule, and there was no reason to add to that by changing its fire mode, especially since one well-placed bullet would take down the average zombie. Granted, if he ran into something bigger (like the giant flea monster earlier), he'd probably wish _he_ had something bigger, but standing and fighting just wasn't David's style, not when it was possible to run and live to fight another day.

There wasn't a whole lot to check out, he realized immediately. They were in a gigantic stairwell, their only potential moves either back the way they'd come (blocked), up (blocked), or down. It was evident the cop (Ryan, or Ryman, or something like that) was just issuing orders to hear himself talk. David wasn't going to be sorry to be rid of that.

On the other hand…

There was that quite girl, hanging out with that bitch reporter. David knew her type, the quiet, uncharismatic kind who sat on the sidelines. He'd helped her get off the bar yesterday, and again in the stampede. Maybe he could… He shrugged inwardly. Now wasn't the time to contemplate how long it had been since he'd gotten some (and it wasn't really that long ago, anyway). Still and all…

David King, formerly David Foster, squared his shoulders. There would be time to address all this later. Now he just wanted to find someplace to take a nap. He'd been up since yesterday morning, and fuck him if he wasn't tired.

_Fuck me if I am, too_ he thought, smiling faintly as he shuffled over to follow the others.

(KEVIN)

There was a door in one of the corridor's ridiculously white walls. It wasn't the first such door they'd encountered; it was just the first one that opened. Kevin kept expecting Imperial storm troopers or something to come marching out at any moment and start shooting. Granted, since Kevin also liked to think of himself as the hero of this little adventure (or at least an important player therein), he figured they'd probably miss him. Whether or not they'd kill any other members of their little group was anybody's guess.

It was a moot point. The door didn't open on a squad of plastic-clad soldiers with horrible aim. Instead it opened on…the sewer.

"What a spectacular smell you've discovered" Alyssa snorted from behind him. Kevin was finding slowly but surely that she wasn't really as hostile as she acted. That was just her way of dealing with the world, and honestly he was finding he it pretty funny.

Kevin leaned around the corner, aiming down the G36's sights in both directions. When nothing stumbled out at him, he lowered the assault rifle and turned to the others. "Looks clear. Let's go, people."

Considering that he'd spent the last day in a city full of the undead, some of whom had somehow managed to enter advanced stages of decay, the smell of the sewer didn't really bother him. Since he'd gotten to go swimming in another one with everyone else last night, he figured he'd gotten immunized to the stench. Nobody complained, so he figured the same held true for the rest of their group.

The walkway they were using came to an abrupt end about thirty feet later, a small gap in the railing where anyone so inclined could hop into the fast moving stream of sewage. Kevin turned and looked at the others.

"Anyone up for a swim?" he asked, smiling faintly.

Nobody would meet his eyes.

"C'mon guys. It's this or go back and try to dig out the-okay then."

Without saying a word, Cindy stepped past him and hopped into the water, which quickly rose up almost to her waist. She shivered a little at the cold, before turning to the other. "Come on in. The water's…pungent."

George, Mark, and the uninjured mercenary stepped over and joined Cindy, Mark and Karl both holding their weapons above the water. "Just like Nam" the old veteran muttered.

"What about the zombies?" Jim asked, watching the water nervously.

George shrugged as he helped Klaus, the mercenary who'd gotten the shit knocked out him earlier, into the water. "No need to worry. Dead bodies float. So any zombies in here with us will be on the surface. We'll be totally safe."

Kevin, David, Alyssa, and Yoko followed suit. The water was colder than Kevin had expected, but it wasn't too bad, and pretty soon he was used to it.

The water came up to just below his waist. Kevin was a little worried about his Colt, but he kept the gun on a holster at just above belt level, so it stayed out of the water, which was something. His backup mags and everything else were getting soaked, though, which he wasn't very happy about.

This sewer was just as drab as the last one he'd been in. The walls were brown, the ceiling was dark, the water was…best not contemplated. There were, however, strange markings every so often. At first he thought they were just signs to give sewer workers a hand navigating the tunnels, but he hadn't seen any manhole covers the entire time they'd been down here. Further, there was that weird sterile-white hallway they'd escaped the subway into. Kevin didn't think that was part of the sewer, and he didn't think this was, either.

One of the walls, for example, had large, white letters stenciled on the sides. **UMB-239** it said, the letters' form broken up so it looked like it was written in pulverized white elbow macaroni.

Kevin winced. The thought of food just reminded him how long it had been since he'd last eaten. He figured everyone else was just as hungry as he was, so he mentally shifted his list of priorities around. "Food" made its way up, putting itself neck and neck "with find shelter" for second place, priority number one still being "Get the hell out of Raccoon City ASAP." He was hoping he'd be able to get at least the former taken care of at some point soon-

Kevin felt the current of the water suddenly change. He looked over his shoulder to see a gapping black hole had suddenly opened up where the **UMB** sign had been. The water, given a new direction to flow, took to it gratefully.

Yoko had enough time to let out a surprised gasp before it sucked her down as well. Alyssa started to lunge after her, but Mark grabbed her shirt, pulling her back.

"Wait!" he shouted, pointing down at the dark abyss below. "We don't know how far down that is, or where it even leads."

With a hiss, the doors snapped back together like large, rusty teeth.

"What about Yoko?" Alyssa asked, her eyes darting between Kevin and Mark.

"If Yoko's okay now, then odds are she'll be okay whenever we manage to get down there to her" Kevin replied. "And if she's not…" He didn't finish that sentence, but he could see from Alyssa's face she got his meaning. If Yoko wasn't okay, then no amount of reckless speed on their part would help her anyway.

"C'mon" he said, waving them forward. "Let's get a move on."

(YOKO)

Yoko screamed for about three seconds of her decent. That was long enough for her to get a mouthful of salty sewage water, and after one dose of that, she figured she could go her entire life without another.

After being twisted, turned, and spun around enough to feel like she was a pair of dirty socks in a washing machine during its spin cycle, Yoko finally found herself deposited at the bottom of a waterfall of sewage in a narrow hallway. Groggily she stood up, stepping out of the torrent of nastiness even though she was already completely soaked.

_Okay, now where am I-Oh God!_

A zombie lunged toward her, his lower jaw hanging on by a few tendons on the left side of his face. Yoko scrambled back and the zombie stumbled, his outstretched arms fumbling a minute for balance. With another groan he lunged again.

Yoko sidestepped and hurried down the hallway, moving as fast as she could in the now knee-deep water. The zombie let out a confused grunt, pawing at the water as if unsure where she'd gotten to.

Yoko yanked the door at the end of the hall open, finding herself in some kind of break room. Two thick wooden tables had been pushed together in the center of the room, while a third sat in the corner, an old fashioned typewriter sitting on it. Next to that was a large metal chest, with a few multicolored plants sitting on top. Yoko stood still for a moment, trying to catch her breath. The sound of a doorknob turning to her right caused her to spin around, eyes wide.

The door swung open and a woman about her age wearing a horrific yellow jacket and a knee length skirt stepped inside. She spotted Yoko almost immediately, a look of surprise flashing across her face. Surprise which quickly and unpleasantly turned into satisfaction, as a gun appeared in her right hand.

"Yoko" the other woman said, stepping forward, the waist-level handgun still trained on her. "Well, I have to say I didn't expect you to come back here. After everything that happened, I figured you'd go hide somewhere like the little child you are."

Yoko felt her eyes dilate, images flashing past her for a moment: memories of this woman, of working with her, of unwarranted animosity. A name. "Monica?"

Monica narrowed her eyes impatiently. "That's right. Now what is it you want?" she demanded. "Why'd you come back here?"

"I don't understand…" Yoko stammered. Her head was starting to hurt again. Her eyes fell on a metal suitcase in Monica's other hand. "What's in that?' she asked.

Monica's green eyes flashed. "What? Don't tell me you're here for this _too_? Well," she pulled the hammer down on the handgun, "I'm afraid I can't let you have this. I worked hard for this little retirement plan here, and no one, certainly not a scared little girl like you, is going to stand in my way."

"I don't know what you're talking about" interjected Yoko, but Monica wasn't interested in listening. Yoko seemed to remember that being a recurring theme with her…

"Don't you play innocent with me!" she snapped. "I'm on to you. You think you can take what's mine? You're wrong! You can't outsmart me! You could _never_ outsmart me."

"I don't-"

A sudden light came on in Monica's eyes. "You know, I think there might've been a reason for us to meet here." She smiled maliciously. "You wouldn't happen to have your access card, would you?'

Yoko was puzzled. She had no idea what Monica was talking about, couldn't remember ever having been here in this room before, yet there was something uncomfortably familiar about all this…Without knowing why, Yoko reached into the pocket of her jacket and pulled out a small, red plastic card, a holographic image of a multicolored octagon on one side. "Is this what you're-?"

Monica stepped forward, setting the case down before snatching the card out of Yoko's hands. "Yes" she hissed, her eyes lighting up. "Thanks Yoko, ya little lifesaver. This is just what I need to get out of this dump."

"Out? You mean, you have a way to-?"

Monica scooped up the case, then turned and pointed the handgun at Yoko again. Without warning she pulled the trigger, a round smashing into one of the potted plants and causing Yoko's shoulders to stiffen, her whole body freezing up in terror. "Now, don't you go and try following me" she said, smiling sweetly as she turned to leave. "Have a nice life" she said over her shoulder. "What's left of it."

Yoko stood there, completely still, completely frozen with terror, long after Monica had already moved on. She was still frozen when the others found her.


	14. Rumbling

beChapter 12: Rumbling

(REBECCA)

"Do you hear that?" one of the kids asked, her ears suddenly perking up. They'd finally gotten them to lay down for awhile, and Rebecca wasn't far from mentally cursing when this one woke the others up.

"It's probably nothing" Maddie said, trying to get them to calm back down. The sound of the zombies pounding on the walls outside hadn't disturbed the kids as much as it had everyone else; Rebecca figured they just didn't quite get what was going on. In a way (a very detached way), Rebecca felt sorry for them. Odds are the kids were now all each other had; all their other friends and family were almost certainly dead, either eaten or infected.

Rebecca was willing to chalk it up to the kids' imaginations, except at roughly the same moment, Chase and Billy stood up and looked at each other, equally confused looks on their faces.

"That sounds like-" started the former Army Ranger.

"Treads!" finished the former US Marine. He turned to the others. "Those are treaded vehicles outside. Tanks, APCs, heck, I'm not too picky to not take a halftrack. Point is, I think we're about to be rescued!"

Everyone stared at him for a moment. Then, like the rising sun, comprehension dawned on everyone's face. As one, the civilians started to rush the door.

"Wait!" shouted Chase, firing his M14 into the air, the distinctive crack of the battle rifle in the confined space causing everyone to stop and flinch. "Before we all go running outside, we need to talk to these people. Make sure they're able to take us all…and they're who they claim to be." He pointed to Karen and Rita. "You two stay with the others. Billy, Rebecca, and I will go take a look."

Rebecca checked her shotgun at the door, making sure there was a shell in the chamber. The Remington was far and away not her favorite weapon, but it was better than the Samurai Edge. She shuddered a little as she remembered trying to fight one of the BOWs Umbrella called a hunter with just the 9mm. Even the timely arrival of Mat and Chris had only barely gotten her out of that alive, and Mat had gotten his face badly scarred as a result. There was no sense in not being careful, when the alternative was death.

"Rebecca, keep the door open" Chase said quietly, his M14 clutched across his chest at low ready. "Billy, watch my back. If things go south, lay down suppressive fire." His eyes fixed on Rebecca's. "But if things look bad, put the safety of the group ahead of us. If those guys attack, shut the door. Don't let them in, even if it means letting us die. Think you can do it?"

Rebecca nodded slowly, her eyes a little wide. She hadn't quite considered the possibility of having to leave Billy or Chase outside with zombies and hostile soldiers, and she wasn't sure she could do it…

Chase's eyes narrowed. "You had better get your head in the game, Sergeant, _right_ _now_. Got it?"

"Yes sir."

"Good. Let's go."

Chase pushed the door open, turning the knob with his left hand, leaning against it with his right shoulder, the M14 held awkwardly against his body up and ready. He opened the door halfway, then turned and swept the rifle back and forth, before waving Billy and Rebecca forward. "Clear" he said, his voice low.

Rebecca crouched in the doorway, the Remington held against her shoulder, the barrel aimed at the ground at an angle, her head swiveling back and forth, eyes peeled for anything out to kill her or her friends.

The rumbling was getting louder. Rebecca figured out why the infected hadn't reacted to them leaving the building; all undead eyes were on the three squat tracked vehicles rattling and belching their way down the street.

They didn't look like tanks, Rebecca noticed immediately. True, the things were armored, and they had treads, but they lacked a big canon mounted on top. Instead, it had a single, smaller turret mounted toward the front of the body, a shorter-barreled gun mounted on it.

Soldiers flanked each machine, which ambled along at a leisurely pace. The sight of the men made Rebecca' heart fill with relief; each man wore dark green fatigues and helmets, with M16s cradled in their arms. Rebecca couldn't make them out clearly, but she knew the Velcro patches on their shoulders would by a bi-chromatic representation of the American flag.

"Howdy!" Chase called out, lowering the M14 to waist level.

"Fuck!" exclaimed one of the soldiers as he and several of his comrades whirled in his direction, M16s suddenly aimed at him.

"Identify!" one of them shouted, as two more soldiers jogged forward, their rifles also trained on Chase.

"Chase Mathison, Raccoon City Police Department. Over there is Rebecca Chambers, also RPD, and Billy, a survivor we picked up earlier."

"Relax guys, they're clear" said another soldier, this one with a corporal's twin stripes. He turned to Chase. "Sorry Officer. We had a run-in with some guys a while ago who claimed to be civies, right up till they started shooting."

Chased nodded. "I understand. I think we may've run into them too, earlier this morning. I hope you killed the bastards, and they didn't get too many of you."

The corporal grinned savagely. "Not to worry, Officer. We gave considerably better than we got, I promise you. _That _group of fuckwits won't be bothering anyone ever again." He paused. "Where'd you guys come from, anyway? We didn't see you until you were right on top of his. Damn near gave Wallace a heart attack."

"Fuck you, Greer" replied the soldier who'd shouted earlier, a look of embarrassment on his face.

"We got about two dozen survivors in that warehouse behind me" said Chase, gesturing with his left hand. "We heard you coming and were hoping you'd be willing to give us a lift."

Greer smiled, an odd expression given the sunglasses he and the others wore. "Officer, that's what we're hear for." He spoke into a boom-mike mounted on his helmet, then turned back to face the police. "Call your people out. We'll load 'em up. I say it's about time we got you folks to safety."

The next fifteen minutes were a surreal blur for Rebecca. The soldiers ("Colorado National Guard," Corporal Wallace, who looked strangely familiar, had proudly told her) established a perimeter around the warehouse front, two teams of three training the rifles down each alley, picking off any infected foolish enough to start shuffling their way. While the Guardsman kept the zombies occupied, the survivors piled into the three APCs.

Rebecca found herself in the same one as Billy and Karen, who had spent the last few minutes hobbling around on an ankle she'd sprained when she and Rita fell off the ladder a hours earlier. Chase and Rita had ended up in another, along with Elza Walker, while Maddie, Loretta, and the kids filled up a third. The soldiers marched alongside their vehicles, although none of them complained.

"Ma'am, we've had to do much worse stuff than this on training missions" one of them said nonchalantly.

It was hard for Rebecca to grasp, but things might actually turn out okay for her and the others. They might actually manage to make it through this alive.

Also inside the APC were two other survivors, One was a gangly young man about twenty-two years old, wearing big glasses, a medium-quality camera hanging from his neck over an "I Want to Believe" t-shirt.

"Andy Hughes" he said, extending his hand to Billy and Rebecca in turn. "Monster hunter." He went on to elaborate on that subject for a few minutes; essentially, he was a freelance photographer who sold pictures of various cryptid (although he'd never call them that) to all the black-and-white tabloids that dotted grocery store checkout lines. Andy was a true believer, though, one of the few members of the "next generation" of creature chasers. He'd been all over America, including canoeing up and down the James River looking for a rumored roving island in Arkansas. He'd come to Raccoon City after the first reports of a new breed of predator had come in, but due to the RPD's blockade of the Arklay Forest, he'd been kept out of harm's way, stuck at his hotel room until yesterday, when everything had hit the fan. He kept grinning, an expression that was at once annoying and yet disarmingly honest. "When I get oughtta here, am I _ever_ gonna have some great shots!" he finished his story. Billy rolled his eyes in disgust, but didn't say anything.

The other survivor was a quite man in his mid twenties named Freddy Cuellar. Judging by the redness around his eyes and his generally disheveled appearance, Rebecca suspected he'd been frequenting bars when the outbreak had started. He didn't volunteer much about his own past up until he'd saved Andy from a horde of undead ("They wanted to eat you, you asinine little prick" he'd said irritably, interrupting the photographer's story); the two had been traveling together right up until meeting the National Guardsman about ninety minutes earlier. Freddy had a big, bolt-action Sako 75 rifle with a medium range scope sitting propped against one leg, and Rebecca could see the butt of some sort of revolver peeking out of a very ratty looking dark green jacket. Clearly this was a man who'd been through a lot more than just the nightmare of Raccoon City, and Rebecca didn't feel inclined to ask for more information.

Corporal Greer had climbed into the APC with Chase, leaving Rebecca, Karen, and Billy with the group's officer, a lieutenant named Carlson. This was a dour man of about twenty-seven with a serious-looking mustache and a face that never seemed to change expressions. He sat towards the front of the vehicle in silence. Billy eventually must've gotten tired of the quiet and struck up a question.

"This is a triple-A V. Why are we using an amphib transport instead of a Bradley or something?"

Carlson blinked at him in surprise. "You know something about APCs? Just a hobby, or-?"

"I was in the Marines a while back" Billy replied, somewhat evasively. "I keep in touch. When I was in, the AAAV was just being deployed. How'd a National Guard unit in _Colorado_ manage to get its hands on three?"

"They're on loan from the Marine Corps" Carlson explained. "The Interstate bridge was dropped in the Arklay at about two this morning; I assume it was to keep those…things from getting out. Unfortunately, that also left the National Guard without a way to get our people _in_ the city, but the Marines were more than willing to let us borrow some of their landers. They've set up a command post outside the city, after…well, let's just say the Ranger chalks sent in ahead of us haven't been heard from for a while. Which reminds me…" he continued, reaching back for a radio. "I'm supposed to call in to report any civilians we pick up, so the folks from FEMA and the CDC can prepare." He held the radio to his ear. "Lookout Actual, this is Gamma Actual, over."

There was a burst of static, then a gruff voice over the radio. "Gamma Actual, this is Major Nero. What is it, over?"

"Sir, my unit has encountered a large group of civilians, including four police officers. We are full-up and RTB, over."

"Understood, Gamma. I'll have people standing by to debrief your team. Lookout Actual out."

Carlson handed back the radio, then turned to face Billy. "Say, you might know some of the Marines at the Lookout. Major Nero's been flying 'em in since last night, along with us Guardsman and some regular Army pukes. Who knows, you might get to see some old friends?"

"Well, I dunno…" said Billy. "The Corps is pretty big…" But Rebecca could see the look in his eyes, the one that had first appeared when he heard this Major Nero's voice over the radio. Nero at least was someone from his past; someone who probably wouldn't be too terribly happy to see Billy again, maybe even one of the men from his old unit who'd framed him for murder. And if Nero was in charge of the evacuation point…

_Billy's going to be in trouble when we get the chance to get out of here_ Rebecca thought glumly.

**Well guys, sorry for the long break between chapters. Hope you like these two!**

**The character of Freddy Cueller is from Lotsofimagination. I'm looking for more potential OCs for stuff later on down the line, so if anyone has any they'd like to submit, let me know. I can't promise big parts, but they will show up.**

**Thanks!**

**Godzillafan93**


	15. Breathing Room

Chapter 13:

Breathing Room

(MAT)

Mat flicked his wrist, causing the magnum's cylinder to swing out. Another flick of his wrist, and the empty .44 casings flew out, clattering to the stone floor of the precinct. Mat didn't look up as he fished more .44 cartridges out of the blue colored box in his pocket and began to load them, one at a time, into the weapon.

He was breaking all kinds of training rules by burying his head in the weapon while he reloaded it, but at this point, Mat figured he could afford to let some of his training slide just a little. His sides burned, his whole body ached, and he was very tired. He just wanted to find some place to die.

And he was having a hard time looking at Jill.

She thought she could just show up at the station, and everything would be okay? How many people were dead because she hadn't been here in the first place? Mat shook his head, slightly because of the aching in his temples, at the thought of what might've been, had Jill Valentine found it in herself to be at the station when she'd been needed most.

But no, Jill had been off doing something else. Mat flicked his eyes at her for a moment. The way she was dressed…Mat hoped she'd at least bee having a good time, wherever she'd been. It certainly looked that way.

Mat slid the last round into the magnum, then flicked the cylinder back into place. Then, with a practiced motion, he spun the weapon in the palm of his hand, offering the grip to Jill. "Here" he said quietly. "I think Barry would want you to have this."

Jill looked at the magnum, then at Mat. "Are you sure-?"

Mat nodded. "Yeah. I'm gonna see what else is left here. Maybe help myself to something a little more manageable than this monster. God, I miss my nine mil. Between this and the .45…" He grimaced, remembering he was chatting idly with Jill, and he was supposed to be mad at her. "Well, are you coming, or were you planning on just standing there all day?"

Jill looked taken aback by his attitude, as if she wasn't used to him, or anyone, talking to her that way. _Too bad_ Mat thought coldly.

"What's the game plan?" she asked, shoving the Silver Serpent into the waist band of her skirt, before unslinging her cut down Benelli. "Do you have a specific objective you're wanting to accomplish here? Know where there's some ammo hidden away? Where other survivors might-?"

ARRRRRRRGH!

"Holy fuck!" they both exclaimed, within seconds of each other, both jumping back as something large and heavy slammed into the doors, causing them to shake.

"I uh…think we should adjourn this little meeting" Mat stammered, feeling his eyes widen to truly humongous proportions on his face.

"Seconded" gasped Jill, as they both hurried away from the still rattling door.

They found themselves in a small waiting room. It was here Mat had picked up the Umbrella recruiting poster a few weeks earlier, and here he'd seen the WANTED poster for Billy Coen. He wondered briefly about the former Marine, and Rebecca, hoping they were both safe.

The room was empty, aside from an old wooden bench lining one wall, and a large metal chest the purpose of which Mat couldn't begin to grasp. Mat unslung his P90, clicking the fire selector switch to 1. He turned to Jill, keeping the weapon close to his body, his upper torso hunched over the weapon. "Point?" he asked quietly.

Jill nodded, readying the shotgun. "I'll watch our backs."

They made their way into the next narrow hallway. Mat remembered running into Brad here almost a month ago, remembered getting briefed in on the STARS mission back in July, remembered chasing Michael Guthrie down this hallway after he'd murdered poor Heather. The RPD had moved her down to the morgue; Guthrie had simply gotten thrown outside, but he'd apparently been infected when Rebecca canceled his ticket. None of the zombies would touch the bastard; so far as Mat knew, he was still there.

Mat led Jill to the stairs near the dark room, motioning to their right. "We need to clear the watch room before moving upstairs" he told her.

Jill nodded. "I'm good if you are."

The first thing to hit Mat when he swung the door to the records room open was the smell. It stank worse than anything else he'd ever experienced in his entire life; coming from someone who once spent the night in a zombie infested mansion, that was saying something.

The first zombie turned to face him, an absurdly obese police sergeant Mat had seen maybe half a dozen times. Fisher, or Foster, or something like that. The big man let out an honest to God belch, stretching his sausage-like fingers toward Mat as he lurched forward.

Mat brought the P90 up, his finger slipping over the weapon's over large trigger, gently pressing it. A single bullet leapt from the SMG's muzzle, the gun's loud report sounding in his ears. Then the bullet put a hole .224's of an inch in the infected officer's head, and he fell on his back, a snarl still on his already revolting face.

Mat heard a noise to his right, and swung in that direction, silently cursing himself for not checking his corners, grateful the other two infected hadn't been closer to the door.

He fired too quickly, too, four shots, two of which drove into the wall, the other two popping the undead civilians' heads like water balloons full of chili, bloody brain matter splashing across the gun metal grey containers. Both collapsed, one managing to knock over a stack of slides, the big metal wheels clanging together on their way down.

Mat made a face, looking back to make sure Jill was still following him, then turned to move into the watch office.

This one had the half-finished trappings of a party strewn everywhere: party hats sitting in disordered stacks, several two liter bottles of soda on a far table, two rather sad looking Mylar balloons anxiously scraping the ceiling, as if they wanted to get away. A banner half-hung from a rafter, one end trailing the ground.

**WELCOME TO RACCOON CITY, LEON**

_That's right_ Mat remembered. _They're sending that guy up from Boulder today. _He couldn't remembered the guy's last name. It was a dead President, he knew that much. Truman or Hoover or some such thing. It wasn't important now. _Looks like your party's been canceled, buddy_ he thought grimly.

"Oh my God!" Jill exclaimed, stepping past Mat and rushing over to the only person in the room, a badly wounded man leaning up against the wall, his chest rising and falling from his ragged breathing. He had a single, nasty slash across his chest; his bare arms were covered in numerous bites. Mat knew it was a testament to the man's fortitude that he was still human, and not shuffling around mindlessly like everyone else.

"Marvin!" Jill exclaimed, shaking his arm, trying to rouse him. She looked over at Mat. "What happened?"

"I don't know" Mat said, stepping toward her, his weapon held easily in front of him. "We went looking for him when we left, but by the time we found him, he was already infected. I'm amazed he's still alive after all this time." He shook his head, then raised the P90 to his shoulder and fired a single bullet, the high velocity round smashing through Marvin's skull, the wall behind it, and finally driving partially into the floor.

Jill looked from Marvin to Mat. "Guess he won't be waking up" she said lamely.

Mat shook his head. "No. Not like that, anyway. I…hope I don't have to do that again, all the same." He shrugged, then gestured over his shoulder with the SMG. "C'mon."

(JILL)

"I _knew _you guys had some good stuff up here" Mat said, eying the contents of the STARS weapons locker. Fortunately, the STARS office had been locked, so the RPD hadn't moved any of these weapons around. Even better, Jill still had her ID card, meaning she could get inside her old office.

The weapons locker held a motley assortment of weapons: two Benelli M3 shotguns, alongside an M110, an M79 grenade launcher, a Colt Python .357 magnum, and another weapon Jill didn't recognize. It looked like a glorified piece of PVC pipe, with extra tubes lining it. Mat reached in and took that weapon, cracking it open gently and expertly, expecting the breech and chamber.

"Hmm…" he muttered. "Not loaded. Must be shells around here someplace, though, otherwise why would it still be here?"

"What is that?" Jill asked, pointing to the weapon.

Mat smiled a little sheepishly. "_This _is the reason I made sergeant so quickly out of the Academy. Kenneth Dooley called it the HKp, although I can never remember the reason why. It's a custom-made grenade launcher he and Barry designed for the Special Weapons and Tactics units when we were all in SWAT together. I got to help design a new type of breaching round, using acid to melt doors. There are a bunch of test shells, but I could never get the composition just right. Kenneth was going to bring Rebecca in on the project after she joined STARS, but we never got the chance to finish." He paused, aiming down the weapon's adjustable sights. "The acid shells were too lethal for police use, but it can fire standard 40mm shells just fine. I think I'll take this with me."

Jill looked at him in confusion. "I thought you wanted an easier weapon to control?"

Mat shook his head. "A little, but this has more than enough versatility to make up for that. Think about: if I can get my hands on the rounds, this baby is basically a Swiss Army knife. There won't be a situation I'm not equipped for." He clipped a strap to two built-in mounts, cracking the weapon open and loading in a shell he found on the bottom shelf, putting three more in his pocket. "These things are heavy, but I imagine they'll be useful."

"Why does it only chamber one round?" Jill asked. "Why didn't you give it a bigger internal magazine, like the Arwen or the MGL?"

Mat shrugged. "Don't look at me; Barry designed the thing. I thing it has something to do with the back blast from the acid shells corroding the other rounds in the chamber. This has been built specifically to handle shells like that, although we did reinforce a couple of the M79s to use the acid rounds too. The things just got too heavy with all the extra plating we had to give them; this is much lighter and has a stock."

Jill outfitted herself with one of Barry's shoulder holster rigs, a double one with a holster specifically designed for the Silver Serpent. The other holster was made to fit Barry's custom Beretta 96 with its built-in compensator, but Jill put Brad's Samurai Edge in it instead. Her whole ensemble was the result of some admittedly bad luck, but Jill was learning to make the most of it.

Mat was looking to the right, at a small stack of rather squished cardboard boxes sitting next to a file cabinet. Hanging from a wooden hook above them was a small, white shoulder bag, a big red and white cross on the front.

"Mat?" Jill asked. "You still with us?"

Mat started, then nodded slowly. "Yeah. I was just…thinking about something."

Jill didn't know what to say to him. She hadn't seen Rebecca since that night at Emmy's, and was honestly a bit irritated at the STARS rookie for not taking a more active part in their little resistance movement (that Mat might feel the same way about Jill never crossed her mind).

"Mat…" she said again. They needed to get a move on; there was no telling when that thing might break through into the station, and Jill would rather not fight it indoors if she had to.

Mat reached out and took the bag off its hook, running his thumb over the clothe for a moment. Then he reached inside and pulled out two off white aerosol cans, smiling faintly. "Rebecca picked these up in the Mansion. I guess she never remembered to take them out when we got back. I'll bet she forgot she had them." He shoved one can into his back pack, tossing Jill the other. "All yours."

Jill rolled the can around in the palm of her hand for a minute. She remembered this stuff; the spray-on first aid chemical that had first put Umbrella, and with it, Raccoon City, on the map back in the mid seventies. She'd never used it herself (the stuff went for $50 for a much smaller can than what she held right now), but it was supposed to be the best medical breakthrough since the disposable bandage. Jill unzipped her side pack and managed to squeeze the can inside. "You ready to go?"

Mat nodded. "Yeah…" He took a last look around the room, a look that seemed to encompass the entire precinct. "Until we come back" he said after a moment. "Until we retake the city, anyway. Until then, I just want to get out of here."

Jill was a bit surprised. It had never occurred to her that they'd have to come back into the city and clean it out. She'd just been concentrating on getting as far as humanly possible from Raccoon City as she could; that Mat was anticipating the city's liberation said a lot about their outlook on life…or their differing degrees of realism.

Jill wasn't especially interested in having that discussion with Mat at the moment.

"Let's go" was all she said.

They didn't say anything as they made their way back down the hallway, walking along the wooden panels in silence. Jill cradled the M3, Mat having slung the grenade launcher across his back in favor of the more familiar SMG. Jill's mind was elsewhere, already planning their next move, when she heard a crash from the floor below.

"What the hell?" she exclaimed, casting a glance at Mat. "What was that?"

Mat shook his head. "Nothing good" he replied. "Come on!"

They sprinted the last fifteen feet, rounding the corner and coming to the stairs. Down below they could see a brand new hole in the wall of the precinct, early morning sunshine coming in rather incongruously on the drab and blood stained floor.

And standing in the middle of the rubble, massive shoulders heaving, was the Tyrant, a long metal tube held in one hand. Its soulless eyes jerked up, seemingly focusing on her and Mat. "_STARS_" it growled, raising the tube to its shoulder.

Mat let out a startled laugh, shaking his head in mild hysteria.

"Oh God" Jill breathed, her eyes widening. "Is that a-?"

"It's just not fair" Mat said, his voice slightly high.

There was a _whoosh_ and an honest to God rocket streaked out of the launcher on the monster's shoulder, heading straight toward them. Jill shoved Mat to the right and dove in the opposite direction, the rocket slamming into the wall and blasting another hole. The Tyrant growled angrily and pumped the weapon in the air. There was an audible clank as a new shell slid into place.

"Shit" Jill muttered, scrambling up. A few feet away Mat did the same.

"Now what?" he asked, the whites of his eyes clearly visible in his terror.

"Split up!" Jill replied, dashing for the stairs. She heard Mat call out in confusion behind her, but couldn't spare him a backward glance. She ran full tilt at the monster, who actually seemed to _smile_, one massive hand opening and reaching down for her…

Jill ducked at the last second, using her momentum to slide across the hardwood floor. The monster spun around surprisingly fast, but Jill was already on her feet, sprinting toward the records room. She kicked the door open, hearing it crack on its hinges, along with the heavy clump of the monster's boots and frantic sound of her own breathing. Jill kicked in the door to the main watch room just as the monster crashed into the records room behind her. She hurried on, hoping to but as many obstacles as she could between herself and the creature.

In theory, that was a good plan. In practice…

Jill realized she'd made a fundamental error in judgment, a potentially fatal miscalculation. She'd assumed the monster would try to go around the big desk in the center of the room. In 20/20 hindsight, Jill realized that was a clearly stupid call to make, since the monster had clearly shown no hesitation about blowing holes in things with its rocket launcher.

In fact, it was the rocket launcher that first clued Jill into her error, when a round slammed into what had once been Marvin Branahh's office, blasting it to pieces, vaporizing the former RPD captain's body, and flinging Jill to the ground, showering her in debris.

Jill lay on her back, shaking her head as she tried to clear it, her whole body on fire, fresh cuts on her bare arms and legs stinging, her ears ringing from the close proximity of the explosion. Slowly her vision cleared enough for her eyes to focus on the Tyrant as it smashed through the desk and charged forward. Jill tried to scramble away like a crab, but the monster was just too fast. With one massive hand it simply reached down and snatched her up off the ground, squeezing her throat in its tightening fist. Jill gagged, her eyes bulging, her legs kicking frantically as she was suddenly lifted off the ground. Her vision went red, her lungs burning, but she saw Tyrant's other hand approaching her face, the stinger in its palm ready to plunge through her brain-

Something slammed into the monster, causing it to roar in pain and spin around, the noises oddly muffled as Jill's ears fought to recover. She dropped to the ground at the monster's feet as it whirled to meet the new threat, only for a second impact to slam into its face. The monster bellowed in rage, lowering its shoulders and rushing forward, barreling toward a figure at the other end of the room, one that stood its ground until the last second.

Mat (Jill's eyes had focused enough for her to see who it was) fired again, another of his special acid shells slamming into the Tyrant's face. The monster snarled in blind rage, intent on smashing Mat into the wall, but Mat sidestepped just before impact, and the Tyrant slammed its head into the wall. Drywall buckled, cracked, and collapsed, burying the monster in a small shower of white powder. It lay there, unmoving.

Mat slid the barrel on the grenade launcher forward, discarding the spent shell, before loading in a fresh one and locking it back in place. Then he headed for Jill, stumbling a little, one hand clutching his side, a grimace on his face.

Jill sat where she'd fallen, still trying to catch her breath. Her ears hadn't quite recovered enough for her to hear normal-level human speech, because Mat had to shout three times before she understood he was asking if she was okay.

"Yeah" she said, standing shakily.

"Come on!" Mat shouted for her benefit, motioning to the door behind them. He said something else too, not loudly enough for her to hear, but it looked like "…he gets up again."

Outside, a few dozen zombies had stumbled toward the precinct, apparently curious about all the gunfire. Mat nonchalantly put down four with the Colt, not even pausing as he shot a path through the rabble of undead, a hideous mosh pit that threatened to close in. Jill followed, her ears still ringing a little, her shotgun head close. Finally, they reached a street corner about a block away. There Mat turned to face her.

He was still speaking too quietly for her to hear him, but she could more or less figure out what he was saying by reading his lips.

"See what I mean?" he mouthed, gesturing toward the station. "That thing is like a frigging bloodhound. It's going to keep coming after us no matter where we are. We have to split up."

"Where are you going to go?" Jill asking, the act of opening her mouth relieving some of the pressure in her ears, if only a little.

Mat shook his head. "Anywhere that isn't here." He paused, thinking for a minute. "There's an extraction point I heard about at the Arklay Lookout. If I'm going to find Rebecca, I should probably start by looking there." He started to walk away.

"Why?" Jill asked. "Mat, she abandoned us. How do you even know she's still in Raccoon City? Together, we have a chance to kill that thing; way better than we could alone." Mat ignored her, still walking away. "What do you owe her, anyway?"

Mat whirled around, anger on his face. "What do I owe her?" he shouted. "Jill, what do I owe _you_? You show up here after everything's already gone down and everyone's already fucking _dead_ and expect it all to be okay? Rebecca _came back_, Jill. She was here for everything. Rebecca, with almost no combat training and zero experience, stayed around and fought. Where were you, Jill?" His fists were clenched, and trembling. "_Where the fuck were you?_"

Jill stared at him for a minute, comprehension slowly dawning._ He blames me for all this_ she realized. "Mat, I'm sorry about what happened. About everything. But _please_, I'm asking for your help here. I…we have to do this together. Okay?"

Mat shook his head, sending her a look more full of disgust than any words he could ever speak. But the look wasn't enough, because he added one sentence. "Fuck you, Jill." And walked away.


	16. Ice

Chapter 14:

Ice

(ALYSSA)

Yoko still wasn't talking, and since it had been almost an hour since they found her standing in the empty break room, shivering and covered in sewage, Alyssa was starting to worry. Granted, there were so many other things to worry about right now, Yoko's mental well being wasn't toward the top of that list, but it was still cause for concern.

_Yeah, because the rest of us are all doing so well_ Alyssa thought as she and the others made their way down the winding hallway, the floor, walls, and ceiling all the same gun-metal grey. _Whoever the decorator here was must not have had a soul_ she decided.

They kept going down and down, always down. That seemed counter-productive to Alyssa, since the goal of their little escapade was to get _out_ of the city, and while they could accomplish that end by going to China, it didn't seem especially practical in the long run.

The grey maze ended at a single, large elevator. Since there was nowhere else to go, they all piled inside. It was a tight fit, but no one had opted to wait for a second run.

"What floor should we go to?" Cindy asked Jim; he was the one closest to the panel.

"Don't matter" he replied. "There's only two options, and we're at one of 'em."

There was a metallic _ding_ and the elevator doors closed. Alyssa felt a falling sensation in the soles of her feet as the car descended, but managed to keep from making any "sinking feeling" jokes. Given the general mood of the group, it wouldn't have been a good idea.

The corridor they exited into looked like a polished version of the one they'd just left…except for the blood. There was quite a bit of that all over the mirrored surface of the floor, ceiling, and walls. And the cold.

Cindy, the waitress, folded her arms in front of her body, shivering and rubbing her bare forearms.

"Jeez" muttered Kevin. "What is this, a meat locker?"

Alyssa didn't know about a meat locker, but it certainly looked like this had been a battlefield at some point recently. There were bullet holes in the walls, some clustered together, some more spaced out. There were bloodstains nearby, some from arterial-looking splashes, others left in deep, almost claw-like gauges in the walls. An air duct cover was missing from the ceiling, and blood dripped from the dark opening above their heads.

There was a man lying against the wall in a rectangular room a few feet away. Three deep slashes crossed his chest, a pool of dark blood, already drying, on the floor beneath him. His head was slumped on his chest, a big rifle sitting in his lap.

George crept forward, Kevin and the big man, Mark, on his either side, weapons trained on the body. George knelt down, feeling for a pulse, before shaking his head and stepping back.

"Jesus" muttered the doctor. "What did this?"

Ignoring his question, David, the handyman who'd smelled like shit _before_ they went into the sewer, who kept looking at Yoko in a way that made Alyssa's skin crawl, brushed past him, squatting beside the body.

First, he took the man's rifle, which Alyssa say was identical to the one slung across David's back. The man pulled back the charging lever, a big bullet popping out. Then David flicked a switch just in front of the trigger, disengaging the clip or magazine or whatever the hell it was a gun held bullets in, placing the loose cartridge inside before shoving it in his pocket. Then he began to pat the dead man down…

"Hey now-" said Jim, taking a step forward. David sent him a wordless glance, then returned to his scavenging.

Jim stopped, but shook his head. "That's some cold shit" he said quietly.

Kevin chambered a round in his assault rifle. "That's enough" he said warningly.

"What?" David rasped back. "He's not using it at the moment."

"We don't loot" Kevin replied forcefully, an edge entering his voice.

Mark put a hand on his shoulder. "Calm down Officer" he said quietly. "He's right."

Kevin's eyes locked with the older man's for a moment, then he nodded. He dutifully avoided looking at David, though, as the man stripped the bloody corpse two more rifle magazines, a small piece of metal with about twenty bullets fitted inside, and a small, snub nosed revolver.

"Alright people, let's go" Kevin said, still refusing to look at David, turning to lead their group to another door, only to have that door hiss open on its own, revealing a man in a violently orange jacket leaning against the frame, a look of shock on his face as soon as he saw them.

"Who the fuck are you people, and how did you get down here?" he half gasped, half shouted at them.

"We're…uh…we're survivors" Kevin stammered, only to have Dustin, one of the mercenaries, step past him.

"Sir, we're a combination of two UBCS companies, surviving RPD units, and refugees attempting to escape the city" he said concisely, the usual tone of insolence gone from his voice. "We can get yourself and any other Company employees out too, if you come with us."

The man studied Dustin for a moment, his eyes darting over the others for a moment before returning to the mercenary. "Alright. Come with me."

(DUSTIN)

Dustin led followed the scientist (he knew enough about how Umbrella labs were staffed to recognize those stupid jackets they all wore), his AK's strap double looped over his body, keeping the rifle ready to fire. He held it close to his chest, his finger resting just above the trigger guard, where he could slip it south if need be, but where he wouldn't get startled and squeeze off a round by accident. The drill sergeant he'd had in the German Democratic Republic's army had driven trigger discipline home hard enough for it to stick. It was about all the practical soldiering Dustin remembered from his days in his now nonexistent home country.

He hadn't wanted to join the military, but as the son of a minor Party functionary (and there was only one party in the GDR), he'd not had any choice. Dustin had had the smarts to join government service, but he wasn't brutal enough to join the _Ministerium fur Staatssicherheit_, or Stasi, the State's secret police force. The Stasi were the trained surrogates of the KGB, but had all the inherent ruthlessness of their countrymen who, two generations earlier, had founded the SS.

Dustin had had the choice of either joining the Stasi and spying on his fellow citizens and virtually destroying their lives just because a higher Party member said so, or joining the army, where like as not he'd have been issued an AK-74 and told to stand on the Wall, where he could destroy the lives of his fellow Germans a bit more literally.

His father knew of his disgust with the choices his country gave him, and had been furious, telling him he was lucky the GDR was an "independent" nation, rather than a part of the USSR, where he would've instead been sent to Afghanistan. The fact that the German Democratic Republic was as independent of Russia as a newborn baby is independent of its mother was a subtly lost on his idiot father, a True Believer in the Party, the eventual Advent of Global Socialism, and the Dictatorship of the Proletariat, etc. Dustin had had all that _schiesse_ spoon fed to him in school, and it wasn't any more convincing coming from a man whose head was so far up his ass he hadn't figured out his wife was having an affair with their _maid_.

Dustin had opted, instead, to defect, memorizing the guard's routines and sneaking across the border with two other men, none of them older than nineteen, hurrying across the No Man's Land that separated the East and West with its barbed wire and land mines. A spot light had spotted them just as they were halfway across, and Klaus and Hans had both been torn to pieces by an RPK light machinegun mounted in one of the guard towers. Dustin barely made it across, before passing out in front of a trio of French NATO soldiers who'd rushed up to see what the shooting was about.

Through a series of twists and turns more complex than Dustin himself could really keep track of, he'd ended up in Rio de Janeiro, working for a local mercenary band that did private security contracting. That the firm was really a front for Umbrella he only learned later, but at that point, even after the Iron Curtain had fallen and Germany was made whole, he already had no place else to go. Dustin had never really looked back.

The scientist (they didn't wear nametags, which irritated Dustin on some level) led them to a small room, with two folding tables at either end, covered in what amounted to wrapping paper to make them look wooden, two coffee machines, a box of what had to be really stale donuts, and various paper plates and Styrofoam cups. Another table, this one plastic and not afraid to show it, sat in the middle, with several brown folding chairs arrayed around it. Three other people sat around the table, two men and a woman, all in the orange jackets and all in a state of shock. Two other scientists wondered around the room in a daze, while another two men, these in the black fatigues of security forces, leaned against opposite walls.

"I found these guys by the Executive elevator" the scientist who'd led them in announced, a proclamation to which no one looked up.

Dustin traded a look with Kevin Ryman, the cop. Dustin didn't want to take over, wasn't interested in getting into a pissing contest with Ryman, but didn't know how to convey that. But the cop seemed to get that, when he gestured for Dustin to address the people in the break room.

"Who's in charge here?" Dustin asked. No one responded; everyone just kept staring down at the floor. The aura of defeat was evident. Whatever had happened, it had been bad.

Dustin focused on the two security types, who alone of the sad little band of people had looked up when he and the others entered. His eyes focused on the closest one, and Dustin stepped toward him. Because of that, he didn't see the startled look on the face of the man everyone thought was named David King when he saw the quiet guard at the other end of the room.

"You, soldier!" Dustin snapped in his best angry NCO voice; Dustin was a lance corporal, while this guy was a lowly private, but they were also from different service branches, and the USS liked to lord it over the UBCS.

Dustin's voice seemed to work, though, because the younger man's head snapped up, eyes wide. "Y-yes!" he stammered.

"What happened here?" Dustin asked, not letting the edge out of his voice. To his right, he saw the big guy, Mark, nodding approvingly, suggesting he'd pulled off gruff noncom pretty well.

The kid (that he was only about six years younger didn't occur to the twenty-eight year-old former East German) stammered on for about three minutes, but couldn't really tell Dustin much. All he learned (and that was due primarily to his own deductions) was that this facility had been where whatever biohazard had overtaken Raccoon City had originated. That news wasn't comforting.

"Why are you still here?" he asked next.

"Doors won't open" the soldier replied, still trying to master his voice, his eyes drifting down to the floor again.

"Why is that?"

"The labs are sealed" said the scientist who'd brought them in. It was the first time he'd spoken since they arrived. "Someone, probably one of the Doctors Birkin, initiated the Biohazard Protocol. That's why it's so damn cold down here."

"How do we fix that?" Dustin asked.

"You have to restart the system" said the woman at the table. "It'll reboot, turn off the freezers, and turn off the door locks."

"If that's all, why haven't any of you people done it yet?" asked Alyssa, the reporter.

"There's…something out there" said the soldier in front of Dustin. "One of the experiments that got out. It…killed most of the security and research staff. The rest of us…we've been sitting here, waiting for it to find us."

Dustin didn't voice his opinion on that subject. Instead, he looked over to the two scientists who'd spoken up. "What do we need to do?"

(ALYSSA)

Alyssa followed one of the male scientists, York, as he led her to the computer terminal. In order for them to escape the icebox they'd stumbled into, they'd need to have people spread all over the subterranean…whatever it was they'd found.

Alyssa knew a little about computers, though not as much as Yoko. Unfortunately, there were two terminals that needed to be serviced, so Yoko was taking one, and Alyssa and York the other. Kevin and Mark had gone with one of the soldiers to look for anyone else still trapped inside, while the other had been sent down to prime the electrical generators in case rebooting the system caused the power to shut off.

Alyssa's hand was sweaty around the handgun she'd gotten at the police station, an odd contrast to the way her breath came out as vapor. Something about this place just screamed _wrong_ to her, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it.

York led her through a hissing, airlock-like door, onto a narrow catwalk, red fluorescent bulbs apparently serving to mark their way. Alyssa did her best not to look down, and her best turned out to be good enough to her across this catwalk, through the hub at the center, and down another.

"How much farther?" she asked York as they stepped through another metal door.

"Not much" he replied, looking over his shoulder. "And it's all down hill from here."

York was walking just a little bit ahead of her. That seemed somewhat odd to Alyssa, since she was the one with the gun, but since York was the one who knew where they were going, she hadn't pressed the issue. She was glad she hadn't as soon as they rounded a corner and came face to face with a seven-foot tall plant.

York didn't even have time to scream as the monster opened its three-petaled, flower-like maw wide and bit down. Blood fountained from York's now headless body, steaming in the cold air as his body dropped limply to the icy floor.

Alyssa almost threw up; only terror allowing her to keep the contents of her stomach in. The monstrous plant turned toward her, wiggling two arm-like vines one either side of its huge mouth as it advanced on odd looking legs. It took Alyssa a moment to realize the monster had the lower body of a man, that this was more than just a random _thing_, this was a genetic experiment gone wrong, and that unless she moved, it would kill her too.

Fortunately, the monster was clumsy, and floor was slick. Alyssa took a few steps back, then ran at the monster, throwing herself on her side and sliding underneath the monster's flailing arms. The plant creature turned to follow, but its deliberate movements made it slower than her, and Alyssa was out the door at the end of the hallway before it could follow.

That did _not_ mean, however, that she was home free. Now she was on another platform, a ladder leading down to the floor two stories below…and an even larger plant monster recessed into the wall from floor to ceiling.

Alyssa took a deep breath, then jumped onto the ladder, her feet off the rungs as she slid down. The ten seconds to the ground were probably the most terrifying of her life, even though the plant didn't make any move to come after her. All the same, Alyssa started running again as soon as her feet were on the ground. She hoped the others were having better luck than she was.

(MARK)

Oblivious to the drama which had just occurred above them, Mark, Kevin, and the talkative security guard had started their own search of the lab. Mark's first impression was that the place was huge, and his mind was boggled that such a thing could exist beneath the city without anyone knowing.

The shaft they made their way around was seventy or eighty feet deep _at least_, easily more. Mark trusted there was a bottom; he just couldn't see it.

It was freezing, too. His breath smoked every time he exhaled, the sweat that had run down his body earlier now chilling his skin. Mark was glad, for the first time, for the extra pounds he'd put on since the war. He knew it was keeping him insulated against the cold.

Mark had an M16 he'd taken from one of the dead soldiers. His was an A2 model, oddly enough, more or less the same weapon he'd carried in Vietnam. True, the hand guard was a little different, and the stock telescoped, rather than being fixed and obscenely long, as some of the smaller rifleman had always complained about, but it was still the same basic weapon.

He aimed down the burst-fire rifle now, sweeping it left and right. There was a rather sudden drop to either side of the catwalk they moved along, but still, it was better to be cautious than not.

Mark was in the rear, while the security guard type, Leary, was on point, Kevin between them. The young cop was coming along well, Mark had decided. He was officer material, or at least he would've been in Mark's army, though he doubted the standards had changed _that_ much since his time in the Service. Mark could see Kevin sweeping his G36 back and forth, just like he was. The kid may not have known much about combat, but he was learning fast-

There was a dry flapping to their left, coming from above. Mark stopped at the sound, puzzled as he tried to figure out what it was. He turned his head toward the noise, and saw-

"The fuck?" Kevin asked aloud, as he and the other two men watched the gigantic moth descending on them. It occurred to them rather belatedly that the bug probably wasn't friendly, and therefore they probably shouldn't let it get close to them, but by the time they'd reacted to it, it was already too late.

Spreading its six legs, it grabbed Kevin by the shirt, pulling him from the catwalk and flying away, its oddly disproportionate wings keeping it aloft. Kevin didn't even have a chance to scream. Leary started to raise his handgun, but Mark forced his arms down, shaking his head.

"Hold fire" he said quietly. "You might hit him, and even if you didn't, it's a long way down."

Leary nodded. "Let's go. We can find where Mothra took your cop friend pretty easily if we go to the CCTV room. Follow me."

Casting a last look at the receding dot that was Kevin, Mark turned to follow the other man.

(DAVID)

"Yo, wait up!" David called to the security guard, waving.

The man turned to face him, his expression one of confusion. "What is it?"

"Ewing sent me to back you up" David replied, invoking the name of the highest ranking scientist. It was a lie, but no one would ever know that.

The security guard (but David knew his real name was Danny Fox) looked relieved to not be out alone. _If only he knew _David thought, resisting the urge to smile.

"Great" Fox said. "Follow me."

They made their way down an extremely narrow flight of stairs, entering a cold, metal room somewhere between a walk-in freezer and a warehouse. There were dozens of six-foot tall crates scattered around, metal clamps securing the lids, heavy-duty tubes running between them.

"What is this place?" David asked, studying the label on the box next to him. It said **CHIMERA-**, then a strange looking squiggly B. David was finding the whole thing discomforting enough to let it show.

"This is Cold Storage" Fox replied, cocking the hammer on his Beretta, his eyes scanning in all directions. "This is where we keep the specimens" he said over his shoulder. "Used to be you needed Blue-level clearance just to be down here, but since none of the Blue people are still alive, I figured security was already out the window." He bent his legs a little, walking with the handgun punched out. "Careful. Some of them may have gotten out."

David slid the FAL's safety off, bringing it up in the crook of his arm. He was at once wary and exhilarated, his mind racing.

Danny Fox had been a soldier in the…organization David had once plied his skills with. Danny had, so far as David knew, left said organization's service about three months before David had found it necessary to fake his own death. Because of that, Danny (probably) didn't know about the circumstances surrounding David's own leaving of Boulder, but all the same, his presence here complicated things.

David saw Danny freeze up, training his weapon on something around the corner. He was amazed that, for the most part, that Danny didn't recognize him. Still, people in David's line of work didn't get old by taking unnecessary risks…

"Up here" Fox whispered, beckoning David forward. David complied, walking low to the ground himself, the FAL trained out and down. Then he saw what Fox was staring at, and stopped as well.

"What is that?" he asked, his voice no louder than Fox's had been, as he and his former comrade stared at the frozen…thing a few feet in front of them.

"I have no idea," Fox whispered back, "but I suspect it would be a bad idea to wake it up."

David thought about that for a minute, then brought the FAL up to his shoulder and squeezed off three shots. The 7.62mm bullets tore through the head of the vaguely Gila monster-like creature, blowing large chunks of what looked like ice out of its skull, in addition to brain matter.

"Or we can do that" Fox said, after cringing as the rifle's reports echoed through the warehouse. "C'mon, this way."

Leaving the freezer was a massive relief to David. It meant he was out of the cold. It meant he was away from whatever was being kept in those boxes. And it meant he was closer to-

They were in a large, circular room. A walkway ran along the wall, which was lined with computer terminals. In the center was simple empty space. It looked like a long way down…

"Over here, man" Fox said, holstering his pistol and heading for a crank. David slung his FAL and followed.

"We've got to prime the generator" Fox explained, unnecessarily. "That way, if the power doesn't come back on with the reboot, we'll be able to do it ourselves." He stopped, realizing David wasn't helping him with the crank. "What-?" he began to ask, turning around to see David standing there, the Colt Anaconda he'd taken from the dead guard upstairs trained on him.

"What the hell?" Fox asked, too shocked to be scared. He took a step forward-

David fired the magnum from the hip, the bullet striking Fox in the stomach and causing him to stagger backward. He fell against the rail, supporting himself on it, but he was already mortally wounded, blood flowing freely from the bullet's entry and exit wounds.

"Why?" he coughed, blood running down his chin.

David stepped toward Fox, pressing the revolver against his chest. "Been a long time since Boulder, Danny" he said.

Fox's eyes widened. It looked as though he'd changed his name too; he was clearly surprised someone knew he was. "D-David?" he managed, his face going pale.

Just then his radio chirped. It was Ewing.

"Hughes, what the fuck are you doing down there? We're waiting on you, over."

"See you around, Danny" David said, firing two more rounds at point blank into the man's stomach. Danny's eyes widened more, and he explosively coughed blood on David's face, much to his disgust. David replied by shoving the mortally wounded man over the edge of the railing, watching his body as it was consumed by the darkness, and with it, a potential threat removed.

David stepped back, holstering the revolver. It was time for a smoke.


	17. Mad Dash and Sanctuary

Chapter 15: Mad Dash and Sanctuary

(MADDIE)

The ride in the American APC (Maddie, who didn't know any better, thought of it as a tank) was uneventful. Partially Maddie thought it was because of the soldiers manning machineguns on either side of the vehicle. Part of it was also probably because the armored tracks were simply spinning too fast for anything to keep up with them.

Maddie wished she was in the vehicle with Rebecca. It wasn't that she had anything against the kids (for the most part, they were behaving well, a two were even asleep), so much as she was uncomfortable around their guardian.

Loretta was sitting as close to the ramp as the soldiers would let her, the shotgun she'd been carrying for as long as Maddie had known her leaning against one knee. She didn't say anything, just sat there, doing her best impression of a valkyrie. Maddie knew it was immature, but she was looking forward to getting out of Raccoon City, and it wasn't just because the locals had developed a bad case of the munchies.

She felt the massive vehicle turn underneath her, followed by a bump as it rolled over…something. Maddie figured it was probably a curb. Anything softer (like, say, a body) wouldn't have been hard enough to notice.

A few minutes later, the APC slowed to a stop. The two guardsmen by the ramp stood up and ambled out as it began to descend. The other soldiers followed suit, followed by Maddie and the survivors.

"Move along, move along!" a woman with an authoritative voice was barking into a megaphone from where she stood atop a small podium. She was gesturing widely with her free arm, motioning for them to…move along. Across the front of her unzipped windbreaker was the acronym FEMA. Maddie didn't recognize it, but didn't have time to ponder that as she and the others were herded on.

She was in a tent city, Maddie realized immediately, one that stretched across several acres of a wide avenue. Maddie thought for a minute trying to figure out where they were. Then she looked up, and didn't need to think anymore as she saw the huge spire of the Arklay Lookout up ahead.

She'd never been inside, unimpressed by what was essentially a giant wooden stick (that it was the tallest such stick in the world didn't impress her, either). She visited the Arklay Center, the mall complex underneath and spreading around the building, though, and so she knew it fairly well.

The Arklay Lookout was built around what had once been a lookout post for firefighters, back before airplanes had been commonplace. Wildfires in the vast forests of Colorado were just as dangerous as the ones that occurred farther west, all the more so because of how remote the mountains made such regions. Such towers, two, three, or four story structures that looked like a more grown-up version of the ubiquitous backyard tree house, dotted forests all across the US, from California to Pennsylvania.

Still, while the structure that had originally stood here was commonplace, the building it gave its name to was anything but. Maddie wasn't sure just how tall the thing was, but the damn thing actually _swayed_ in the wind, despite the five mooring towers that surrounded the building, and that had been a sensation she hadn't been quite prepared for the first time she'd experienced it. Her dad, always sensitive to heights, had gone a little green at that, and Maddie had made fun of him mercilessly-

_Dad, I hope you're okay_ Maddie thought, her mind drifting for the first time to her parent. And Rebecca and Mat had seemed to think her dad was somehow mixed up in all this…Maddie shook her head. They didn't know her dad the way she did. There was no way he was in any way responsible for what was going on.

The Arklay Lookout was apparently being used as a command post by the Army, or whoever it was running this show. Maddie could see helicopters buzzing around the entire camp, some twin-rotored types that looked like some sort of airborne hotdog bun, some with obvious weapons slung under their wings and looking decidedly hostile, and still more, even smaller ones that looked like bubbles with propeller blades. It took Maddie a minute to realize there were no obvious media choppers, only those belonging to the military. That seemed odd to her, but Maddie, unwise in the ways of the mass media, didn't know why that was significant.

Everywhere she looked, she saw soldiers. Some were sprinting back and forth in formation, while others patrolled more casually in twos and threes. Maddie saw and recognized the patches they wore, with their red and white mountains, as Colorado Nation Guard troops. While they all carried rifles, none of them were anywhere but over their shoulders, and the guardsmen seemed, for the most part, relaxed, even talking casually with some of the civilians.

There was another group of soldiers, though, and they seemed anything if not on edge. These troopers carried a different rifle, and wore dark, mirrored sunglasses, along with identical neutral expressions. They looked competent, but also aloof.

"Civilians will surrender all weapons here" announced another voice, this one a man's. Maddie spotted him a minute later, a thin man in a bomber jacket standing beside a fake wood folding table. Several different breeds of gun, from pistols and revolvers to shotguns and rifles lay in front of him. Two guardsmen stood to either side, looking somewhat uneasy.

"Civilians will surrender their weapons" the man repeated, and it took Maddie a minute to remember she had a gun on her person, tucked into the waist of her jeans. The man wasn't beckoning to her, though, but to the others carrying more visible weapons.

Chase, the lead police officer, didn't look too happy about that. Still, he made his way toward the man. Maddie and the others followed him.

"Civilians will surrender-" the man began for the third time, but Chase cut him off.

"Listen, pal, I'm a cop, and I've seen what's out there. I'm not interested in turning over _anything _to you people."

"Listen, officer, I understand your reluctance" placated the man, who Maddie saw was wearing a different windbreaker. This one said ATF. Maddie remembered that was the bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms, a government agency charged with managing the illegal use thereof. This seemed an odd place for them to be operating, but Maddie didn't voice that opinion. "We have our orders, and we have to carry them-"

"What seems to be the problem, Danvers?" a new voice called out, and Maddie looked over to see three more men walking toward them. Two were the some of the unsmiling soldiers she'd seen earlier, but the third looked different. He was probably an officer, Maddie decided. Being in front of him, she didn't see Billy's face turn pale.

"These civilians are refusing to turn over their weapons, Major" the man from the ATF replied in a tone Maddie would've suspected from one five year old tattling on another.

"Some of us are police officers" Chase replied, holding his ground. "I don't see why we should have to turn over our weapons too."

The newcomer, the one Danvers had called Major, thought for a moment. He was a big, bull necked man, with a clean shaven face and huge arms, his eyes hidden behind the same-style sunglasses as the rest of his men. He looked like a man who knew his way around a bar fight, Maddie decided.

After a moment, he nodded. "You're right." He turned to Danvers. "Allow them to keep their sidearms, provided they provide identification. Everyone else has to turn in whatever they're carrying."

"Yes, sir" the ATF man replied, sounding a little disappointed.

To Maddie's surprise, the Major stood by to watch as the others disarmed. Chase and Karen looked particularly upset to part with their bigger guns, only doing so when the ATF man grudgingly explained they'd be able to reclaim them later.

Maddie, for her part, wasn't especially attached to the handgun Mat had given her back at the school. She set in on the table, without even a thought about the young man who'd given it to her. All she felt was relief that she wouldn't have the thing digging into the small of her back anymore…

Loretta set down her shotgun, emptying her pocket of about two dozen extra shells, before turning and walking away, without deigning to glance at the little man from the ATF.

Next came the tall, skinny guy named Billy with the tribal tattoo on his arm. But for the ink, Maddie thought he looked kind of like Nicholas Cage, albeit without the crazy look in his eyes.

Billy had ditched the big machinegun he'd taken earlier. Now he was just carrying a chromed handgun, and a big metal tube with a wide mouth that made Maddie think of a blunderbuss, the old-school shotguns from a hundred years ago.

Billy unslung his blunderbuss (Maddie seemed to remember it firing grenades, but wasn't sure), eliciting a wide eyed stare from Danvers, and an amused smile from one of the guardsmen. Then he pulled out his handgun and set it with the others, preparing to step back with the others. He looked very tense, Maddie realized.

"Lieutenant" the Major said, calmly, and for a moment Maddie wasn't sure who he was talking to. Then she noticed Billy had frozen up, his head involuntarily starting to jerk in the Major's direction.

A thin smile crept across the officer's face. "Suller, Griffin. Take him."

Everything happened very fast. The two men on the Major's either side stepped forward, toward Billy, whose face had gone completely white.

"No!" Rebecca was shouting, starting to step between the advancing men and Billy. One of them swung his rifle like a club, expertly clipping her in the temple and knocking her flat. She lay on the ground, stunned.

A second later, Chase delivered a powerful hook to the face of the man who'd hit Rebecca, snapping his head back. The other leveled his rifle at Chase, only to be met by handguns from Chase, Rita, and Karen. The others just stood there, eyes wide, at the spectacle as it unfolded.

"Stand down!" the first soldier was snarling. He was also a big man, with veiny arms.

"Fuck you, leatherneck" Chase replied, pulling the hammer down on his weapon.

"Let's all be reasonable" said the Major, who was also now holding a handgun, a smug look on his face.

"And the horse you rode in on, pal" Chase replied.

"You're outgunned, officer" the Major replied.

"Doesn't matter" Chase replied, his handgun darting over to the Major. "You tell your men to shoot, and I'll bet I can give you two in the chest and one in the head before your guys can drop me."

To his credit, the Major didn't pale at the threat. Instead he just sighed. "Maybe so, but that still leaves you dead. Besides, the man you're defending isn't worth the effort."

"Doesn't seem so bad to me" Chase replied.

"Well, does knowing he's a convicted murderer change that assessment?"

Chase's eyes narrowed. "Hey Billy, that true?" he asked, not taking his eyes off the Major. Behind him, Maddie saw Karen and Rita looking a little nervous.

Billy nodded. "I'm not guilty, but I'm definitely convicted. Don't do this for me, man."

Chase snorted. "Hey, who says this is for you? Maybe I just don't like some big prick who likes to hit girls?" To emphasis his point, Rebecca groaned a little. She had a nasty bruise on the side of her forehead, and another on her cheek where she'd landed.

Billy's eyes fixed on the man who'd hit her. "I'll kill you for that, Suller" he said coldly.

The other man just laughed. "Good luck, pal."

"Look, I'm willing to overlook this little misunderstanding" the Major said, still calm. "Just let us take Coen, and that'll be it."

"It's okay" Billy said. "There's nothing you can do." He gestured to the two guardsmen, now joined by two more, none of whom looked comfortable. "That's it."

Chase nodded slowly, holstering his weapon. "Sorry, brother."

The two soldiers stepped forward and grabbed Billy roughly. "Take him to the top" the Major instructed. "I'll deal with him later." He turned to Chase. "Wise move, officer. See that you don't make me regret letting this go."

Chase bent down and helped Rita stand Rebecca up. The look he sent the Major was pure death. "If I were you, I'd get myself gone" he told the bigger man.

For the first time, the Major blanched. "C'mon" he snarled to his two cronies, who dragged Billy away behind him.

Maddie watched them go. _What the hell just happened? _she wondered.

(DEAN)

Dean Travers was fiddling with radio of the SUV, trying to find a station still broadcasting. For the most part, he kept getting nothing special: two stations were doing nothing but play pop music, while NPR seemed to be broadcasting what he vaguely recognized as a major production of Wagner's _Tannehauser_, in its original German. That was troubling, since it meant each station had simply dropped into what was its originally scheduled programming. The fact that no mention was made of the crisis in Raccoon City meant someone was hushing things up. And that was ominous indeed.

Two more stations were flat off the air. A third, Raccoon City 7, was still on, but after about ninety seconds of listening to the frantic DJ shout and scream incoherently into the microphone, Dean knew they wouldn't be getting anything.

Dean twisted the knob, going to another station with nothing but dead air. "So, this is what the end of the world feels like" he said quietly. The three mercenaries didn't say anything, lost in whatever secret thoughts they had.

The sudden warble of the Emergency Broadcast System startled John so badly he swerved off the road and murdered a YIELD sign. "Wot the fuck is that?" he exclaimed, his voice oddly high pitched.

"Shut it" Dean snapped, twisting the volume controls.

"-nature of the ongoing accident, all civilians are asked to not attempt to leave the city. Instead, they are to head to the safe zone established at the Arklay Center. Repeat, this is a message from the United States Department of Public Safety. Due to the nature of the ongoing-"

"Arklay Center? Where's that?" Lewis asked, from his seat just behind Dean.

"Toward the middle of town" Dean replied. He went on to explain exactly what it was for a few minutes.

"Big parking lots" Lewis said. "That'll be why the Army is using it. They can land their choppers easily enough, and it's a big, wide open area to secure."

"That's fantastic" John replied. "Mind tellin' me how to get there?"

"Well, it's-holy shit!" Dean exclaimed, as something bright orange darted in front of their car. John swerved to miss whatever it was…only to plow into the biggest damn lizard Dean had ever seen.

It looked like a Gila monster, he decided. Either that, or a horned toad. The thing was green, with marble like skin and lots of teeth. It had broad shoulders and reverse jointed legs, although Dean didn't get a very good look at those because John managed to crush the thing between the front bumper of the truck and a nearby brick building. He backed up, letting the monster drop to the pavement, a splatter of dark blood where it had struck the wall. Slowly, the thing tried to stand back up, but John floored it, slamming the bumper into its face and crushing the lizard like a used can of soda.

"_Fucking hell_, did you see that?" he asked, breathing heavily.

Dean, who was hyperventilating just as hard as everyone else, didn't reply. Instead, his eyes jerked to the left, looking out the driver's side window to see a vaguely familiar-looking man staring back.

"What?" he muttered, confused.

"What the hell was-Where the fuck are you going?" John shouted as Dean opened the door and climbed out of the SUV, ignoring the gnawing pain in his ankle. The pain meds he'd taken earlier had worn off, but Dean wasn't interested in taking anymore. After what Mat had told him about Umbrella, he suspected he'd be staying away from their products for a while.

"Hey you!" he shouted to the man in the orange jacket. "You're a cop, aren't you?'

The thing the other man reminded Dean most of was a scared little terrier, but he nodded slowly. "Well, so am I. You interested in getting out of here too?"  
The man nodded again. He even spoke, managing a timid and quivering "Yeah." That was good enough for Dean.

"C'mon" he said, beckoning him forward. He leaned back into the vehicle. "Make room, guys, we got another cop coming."

Mac grumbled at that, but after a look from Lewis he climbed into the rear bench seat. Lewis swung the door open for the newcomer (Dean thought he was support personnel, but couldn't remember what; a computer weenie, maybe?). The man climbed inside, carefully closing the door and buckling in, something Dean and the others hadn't bothered with up until now.

John took a deep breath. "Alright. Now, assuming we don't have to make anymore fucking detours, next stop will be the goddamn Arklay wotsit. Any objections?" he asked Dean pointedly.

Dean prudently shook his head.

"Good" John replied, throwing the vehicle. "Now, if someone'll give me some fucking directions, I make sure the bastard gets laid when we're done here. That sound fair?"

Dean, who hadn't thought about sex for at least twenty hours, didn't think that offer sounded as appealing in the middle of a burning, zombie infested Raccoon City, but what the hell? There would be other times.

"You have no idea" he said. "Now, take a left up ahead, and…"


	18. Revitalized

Chapter 16: Revitalized

(MAT)

Mat managed to stay on his feet for about two minutes after parting ways with Jill. Then he stumbled and dropped to his knees, his vision swimming, his head burning. He stayed on his hands and knees for a few minutes, trying to recover his faculties, before trying to stand again.

That was a mistake.

Mat's head spun again, and when he woke up, he was facedown in a small pool of his own bile. With a disgusted cough, he scrambled away, dragging the grenade launcher behind him.

He heard a shuffling, dragging step behind him, a different pitch from the sounds his own progress was making. Turning, he saw a zombie, a middle aged man in a torn and stained sanitation worker's uniform, stumbling toward him. Mat stood, transfixed for a moment, taking the man in as he shuffled forward.

This had been somebody's uncle once, he decided, noting in his harried state that the zombie wasn't wearing any kind of wedding band. He just…looked like an uncle. He was a skinny man, with a clean shaven face, his blue eyes hidden behind cataracts that simply made the color seem paler. His lips skimmed back over straight teeth…no wait, that wasn't right. There was something dangling just below his nose. It was his-

"Fuck!" Mat exclaimed, snapping back to the moment and scrambling away from the man. For some reason, the man's lip hanging from his face was just about the most horrific thing he'd ever seen on a zombie, and that brought him back to his senses. Dropping the grenade launcher, he jerked the 1911 from its back holster and fired twice, his first round hitting the zombie in the throat, his second splattering the back of its head open. The thing jerked back, its sightless eyes rolling up as it dropped to the street.

Mat stood there for a moment, breathing heavily, the Colt's reports echoing on the mostly deserted streets. Damn, but the .45 was _loud_, and that wasn't especially desirable in his current situation. As if to confirm that, he heard a single, high pitched shriek that sent shivers down his spine. _Great_ he thought irritably. _That's just what I need_.

Mat stooped down, grabbed the launcher, then made his way down the street, still hunched, but trying harder not to drag the grenade launcher. He made it to a storefront, collapsing against one of the doorposts and trying to catch his breath. After a few minutes, he looked up at the sign.

_A pharmacy? That might come in handy…_

Mat took a few steps back, then stood as straight as he could manage and kicked the door as hard as he could. That wasn't enough on his first try, but two more fairly solid kicks and the door stuttered its way open, wobbling loudly on the impact. Mat winced at the extra noise, but stumbled into the pharmacy regardless.

The pharmacy was dark, and more surprisingly, still mostly intact. Mat chalked that up to medicine not being immediately high on one's list of priorities for the end of the world. He stumbled over to the counter and set down the grenade launcher and the P90, pausing another minute to regain his resolve, before turning back to the store. After a moment's consideration, he pulled the rail flashlight off his SMG, then clicked it on. He didn't have time to let his eyes adjust to the darkness in the store.

Mat grabbed two bottles of Tylenol, stuffing them into his pocket after dry swallowing two capsules. After a moment's consideration, he grabbed two more and shoved them in his backpack. He suspected the painkillers wouldn't even begin to do much about the aches in his body, but it was a start of sorts.

Mat also ran across some caffeine tablets, which he took as well. The way things were going, he was going to need to stay awake for a while, and that would be easier if he had a little chemical assistance.

Then Mat heard a shuffling noise from behind him, and froze. It was the same one he'd heard on the street a few minutes ago, but this one was both closer and yet oddly muted. He turned, slowly, keeping the flashlight's beam trained ahead of him.

There was a door behind the counter, he saw. STAFF ONLY, it said in reflective lettering. Mat considered his next move.

The smart thing to do would be to simply pack up and leave. The zombie, if that was what it was, wasn't any threat to him, and besides, there was no reason to waste ammo or risk infection.

On the other hand, Mat was a cop, that thing was a potential danger to the citizens he'd sworn to protect and serve, and there was no escaping he was still a police officer. Grumbling, Mat lurched in the direction of the door. He set the light on the counter, drew the .45, then jerked open the door, jumping back and picking up the light.

He was looking into the pharmacy's store room. He could see box after box stacked before him, with various corporate logos and storage instructions. He saw a few boxes a black and white variant of Umbrella's emblem, along with several others he didn't recognize.

Mat stepped into the store room, turning to his right, the light held at eye level, the Colt pointed at the ground. It was bad gun safety to sweep a room with your gun, since you ran the risk of shooting someone by accident. He'd still be able to bring up the .45 if he needed it, and-

The shuffling sound was followed by a pitiful moan this time. Mat instinctively hunched lower, wincing at the ache in his ribs as he made his way toward the sound, maneuvering through the cardboard boxes and metal shelves.

There was a zombie stuck in a corner, having upset two boxes of supplies on top of itself. It kept trying to push them aside, and was moaning in what sounded like mounting frustration at its inability to free itself. Then it realized it was being watched and looked up, its slack face almost childlike in the flashlight's beam.

Mat put a bullet in its brain, the .45's report loud in the enclosed space. The zombie's head exploded out behind it, blood, bone, and brain spraying the wall behind it. The thing's head jerked on impact; then it sank to the floor.

Mat lowered the handgun and stood there for a moment, shaking his head a little to clear it. Then his flashlight's beam fell on the boxes the zombie had knocked over, and he smiled a little. Umbrella's most famous creation had stopped their most secret, he saw, bending down to take two of the small, travel-sized first aid sprays littering the floor. The things would almost certainly come in handy, and besides, whoever or wherever the owner was, he wasn't complaining. All the same, Mat planned to leave some money on the counter. That way, at least his conscience would be clear-

"What's this?" he muttered, bending down next to a large, cardboard display leaning against a wall. It was still folded up; whatever was being advertised wasn't actually on the shelves yet, but Mat was curious all the same.

From the People Who Brought You

Aquacure

Comes the Next Great Breakthrough from Umbrella, Inc.

Safesprin is More than Just Another Painkiller

Clears Your Head

Relaxes Your Joints

Wakes You Up

Escape to Ecstasy with Safesprin

Mat pondered that last bit. He needed something a bit stronger than Tylenol, but this stuff sounded like it might get him high…On the other hand; it was possible that was just a poorly worded sales pitch. With a shrug, he set off looking for the wonder drug.

Wonder of wonders, he found an entire case of the stuff in the very back of the storeroom. It was taped shut, but Rain's knife made short work of that, and Mat pulled a bottle out, rolling it around in his hand, reading the instructions on the back. The side effects didn't seem too bad (nothing about, say, turning him into a zombie), and he was in a lot of pain…Mat took the bottle back up front, where he found a bottle of water to wash two pills down with.

Suddenly, he felt like he'd been electrified, every nerve on his body wide awake, every ache and pain gone, or at least masked where he couldn't feel it anymore, which was good enough for him.

"The hell is this stuff?" he muttered, sliding the bottle into his pocket. With a strangely newfound spring in his step, Mat slung the HKp over his shoulder, reattached the flashlight to his P90, and set off again, feeling better than he had in ages.

(JILL)

Two streets away, Jill came to the realization she was carrying enough ordnance to rattle with each step. Despite her situation being any but ordinary, the amount of noise she was making had the same effect it would've had she been in a normal operation: people (living and infected) could hear her coming.

Jill didn't really know what to do about that. Between her two Samurai Edges, the Silver Serpent, and the Benelli, she was carrying quite a bit of firepower, but if that STARS hunter showed up again, she suspected she'd need all of it to put the bastard down.

The only things she had to worry about putting down now were infected people, though, and Jill had already realized she simply wasn't ever going to have enough ammo to put every single t-virus victim down. Raccoon City had a population of over 100,000 people; odds were better than even most of them were now shambling around, looking for something to devour.

Instead, she'd taken a more egalitarian approach. Unless an infected was showing untoward interest in her, or was in her way, Jill wasn't going to waste a bullet on them. On some level that bothered her; she was allowing people to walk around in their horrific state because to shoot them would've been impractical. Still, anything else would've gotten her eaten, so in the end the choice wasn't a hard one.

At the moment, the streets were relatively clear, aside from a few infected shuffling around in the darkness underneath a awnings. Jill was trying to stay in the shadows, where she'd be less likely to be seen by one of the infected stumbling around in the road, looking for something to eat. She could hear her breathing rasping as she tried to keep calm.

The zombie lurking in the darkness struck without warning, reaching out and grabbing Jill's ankle, moaning piteously as it tried to pull her foot into its open, waiting mouth.

"Ugh!" Jill exclaimed, stumbling back and falling, the zombie crawling toward her and allowing her to get a better look at it…or what was left of it, anyway. There wasn't much, just an upper torso, two arms, and a head, connected to a severed but still wiggling spinal column, which flopped around like the tale of a large fish.

"Jesus!" Jill exclaimed, kicking with her free leg, her boot impacting on its skull. The infected's grip actually tightened, and Jill let out a cry of disgust, smashing the thing's head open and pounding its brain into a moist pulp on the street.

Breathing heavily, Jill stood up, her eyes darting around frantically to see if anything had-

"Shit" she muttered, watching two curious zombies begin to shuffle her way. This wasn't going to be easy.

Something big, red, and shiny crashed through the window of a nearby shop and began to scuttle toward her on all fours. _Not easy at all_.

Jill racked the pump on the Benelli, checking to see if a shell was in the chamber. The red monster was joined by two more, which crawled out of the same shop and began to advance on her, their breathing low and raspy, like an asthmatic. More zombies were appearing as well, coming from down alleys, or around the corner.

"Alright, you want me?" Jill muttered, bringing the stockless shotgun up to eye level. She pulled the trigger, a concentrated dose of buckshot aimed at the nearest of the new red BOWs. The lead pellets smacked into the monster's hide, causing it to shrink back in surprise. Then, with an angry shriek it leapt into the air, one of its large, vicious talons raised high over its head.

Jill rolled to the side, bringing the shotgun up and pulling the trigger…then cursing herself when the weapon clicked on an empty chamber. She'd forgotten to pump, and the monster was coming.

"Fuck it" she muttered, throwing the weapon away. "At least I still have _this_!"

The Silver Serpent nearly kicked back into her nose, the .44 magnum bucking in her hands, the heavy bullet slamming into the monster's body and blasting a hole roughly half an inch in diameter in its middle. The monster was knocked backward by the blast, landing on the pavement with a wet smack. It thrashed in a widening pool of its own blood, an odd and gory approximation of a snow angle. The thing's head was thrown back, a pained scream escaping its wide-jawed mouth, but Jill didn't dare waste another bullet on it, not when two more of the things were coming.

"Come on!" she shouted, firing the magnum again, the bullet taking the next red creature on top what looked like its brain, splattering its head on the pavement. The thing didn't even have enough time to cry out, dropping limply to the pavement, its companion scuttling over its body alarmingly fast-

Jill spun, her left leg locked in a reverse roundhouse kick that sent the monster sprawling. Not inclined to be merciful, she leveled the Serpent in a two handed grip and shooting it at almost point blank in the gut. Hot blood splashed on Jill's legs, and she worried she might have just splattered herself in T-virus. But the .44's reports were echoing in the streets, answered by the cries of more zombies, and she knew that was a longer term problem than she really had time for.

"Shit" she muttered again, shoving the magnum into her shoulder holster and looking around for the Benelli. She spotted it…now three feet behind the front row of zombies. _Fantastic_.

Jill yanked the Samurai Edge out of her leg holster, flicking the safety with her thumb and backing up. She aimed at a nearby infected, a man in a tattered Ramones t-shirt, and pulled the trigger, the infected's head jerking back on impact, his brain sprayed out of his skull, his body dropping heavily to the ground. But more zombies were coming, and Jill pulled out the other Samurai Edge, the one Brad had dropped, gripping it tightly in her left hand. Dual-wielding like this was stupid, but at the moment she needed volume of fire, not accuracy. She just had to knock enough of these things down so she could turn and run-

Jill raised her left hand to eye level and fired, using the barrel of the handgun like an extension of her index finger. Bullets smacked into the body of the zombie she'd pointed at, walking up from her stomach to her head. Jill switched hands, firing her own Samurai Edge the same way, this time more accurately, her second bullet smacking into an infected boy's face and shattering his skull.

Then Jill felt something solid behind her, and whirled to see she'd backed into a yellow cab. Worse, there was something inside, an infected business woman, who pressed her pale face to the window, pounding and moaning, shaking the entire car. Jill recoiled in disgust and fired both weapons, shattering the window and the zombie's jaw before running on.

Jill spun again, point shooting both Samurai Edges in rapid succession, her shots causing the front rank of infected to stumble and drop, but not causing them to stop in their single minded scramble for her, several simply continuing to crawl in her direction. Then the slide locked back on Brad's weapon, and Jill hurled it at a heavyset zombie with a ponytail, distracting him long enough for her to put a bullet in his head from her own handgun. Jill shot two more before her own weapon clicked open and empty. Desperately she thumbed the magazine release, dropping the empty feed device to the sidewalk and yanking a fresh one out of her pocket.

The infected were too close for Jill to drop them before they got within biting range, though, so she changed tactics. Dropping the handgun, she leapt up, grabbing a fire escape with both hands and hoisting herself onto the nearest zombie's shoulders. She squeezed its head between her thighs, snapping its neck with a twist of her hips, its body immediately going limp. Two other zombies mobbed her, though, despite her best efforts to keep them back with her legs, and Jill knew she was about to die, waiting for the sensation of their teeth sinking into her bare calves-

The explosion caught her completely by surprise. She looked up to see a huge gap in the mob of infected, several broken and burning pieces of zombies falling through the air. She looked to her left, to see a surprising figure standing at the other end of the street.

"Jill, hold on!" Mat shouted, shoving the barrel of the grenade launcher forward, the empty shell within dropping to the street as he loaded in a fresh one and pulled the foregrip back, locking the chamber in place. He fired the explosive launcher a second time, the blast knocking more zombies away, several catching on fire from the explosion. Then Mat dropped the launcher and raised his SMG, opening fire. His first few shots were aimed at the infected closest to Jill, but the range was a bit extreme, and she felt the air whizz past her from one round that came too close.

"Watch it!" she shouted angrily. Mat ignored her, wading into the mob, firing his P90 at almost point blank, single rounds dropping several infected in rapid succession. Jill dropped down, snatching her handgun and the magazine off the sidewalk and reloading, popping back up and shooting the two infected she'd been keeping at bay, only to see the fight was over.

"Mat…" she said. "How did you-?"

Mat pointed to the Silver Serpent. "That thing is loud. Plus, you were doing a lot of shouting earlier. I could hear you a couple of blocks away. At first I thought you'd run into tall, dark, and irritating again, so I came running." He shrugged, gesturing to the bodies laid out in the street. "Compared to that, this wasn't so bad." He stooped and picked up Brad's Samurai Edge, checking the magazine. "Seriously, this guy uses a compensator on a 9mm? How recoil sensitive _is_ he?" He started to offer it to Jill, who waved it off. Mat shrugged and unlocked the slide, putting the weapon in one of the dozen or so pockets on his pants.

"Thanks" Jill said. "You bailed me out back there."

Mat nodded. "Yeah, Jill, I did. You'd better get your shit together, because this is only gonna get harder from here on out. You'd better focus, because I can't keep saving you."

"Now hand on just a minute!" Jill snapped, anger finally boiling to the surface. "That's enough! I have had it with you and your anger. What is it you think I've done that's so fucking bad you feel justified to treat me like this?"

"You wanna know?" Mat shouted back. "You really wanna know? Well fine! You weren't _here_, Jill! I have no idea what is was you were doing, but whatever or whoever it was, you sure as hell weren't where we needed you!" He shook his head in disgust. "Do you have any idea how many times Rebecca and I almost died yesterday? How many other cops _did_ die, because you weren't there to help them? So where the fuck have you been, Jill? WHERE THE FUCK HAVE YOU BEEN?"

"I've been out here, Mat, just like you. I've been trying to do the right thing!" Jill screamed. "But every time, every _single_ time, things fuck up and people die! And now that thing's after us, and on top of that, I've got to deal with your attitude. Right now it's just you and me against that thing, so you are gonna have to get over this, grow the fuck up, and move on! Because if you can't, if you're not man enough to, then odds are we're both going to die!"

They stared at each other for a long minute, both breathing heavily. Jill could see some of the anger leaving Mat, which she decided was something of a shame, because she was really just getting warmed up. It felt good, after having put up with him for the past hour, to finally let him have it.

"What?" she snapped. "What do you have to say for yourself, huh? Are you going to keep being such a raging prick, or are we going to start working together?" She gave him a moment, then shouted again. "Well?"  
Mat didn't answer at first. Instead, his eyes drifted to Jill's left, his right hand dropping down to his leg, reaching for his gun. "What are you-?"

"Watch out!" he shouted, leaning around her, snapping the .45 up and shooting the sprinting crimson head between the eyes, its momentum causing the monster to tumble and roll toward them. An angry roar echoed from further down the alley the first infected had come from, and Jill heard the sound of more shuffling feet.

"Let's go" she said.

Mat nodded. "Right, c'mon."

They hurried down the street, the angry sounds of the pursuing crimson heads sounding like they were almost right behind them. Soon, though, the roars became distant, and eventually they'd left the monsters behind.

Jill and Mat stood panting in the middle of the street, bent nearly double as they tried to catch their breath.

"It's a good thing they lost interest" Jill muttered, shaking her head. "I don't think I could've kept running like that forever."

"Me either" Mat replied, his face almost purple. "That was close." He paused, studying the building they'd stopped in front of. "Hey, look at this" he said, clicking the flashlight on his P90 on, shining it on the sign above the tall building's door.

RACCOON PRESS

"A newspaper office? Why is that significant?"  
"Because one of their reporters is currently rotting away in the bottom of the main precinct" Mat replied. "He was onto Umbrella, so Chief Irons locked him up. Anyway, I'll bet there'll be something useful left in his office. What do you say we go take a look?"  
"I don't know" Jill replied, looking at the smoke billowing from one window. "It looks like there may be a fire. I'd rather not risk it."

Mat shrugged. "Oh, c'mon. What's the worst that could-?"

He never got to finish that question. As if to answer it, a huge shape leapt down from the roof, landing on the street directly in front of him, the pavement buckling under its huge weight. "STARS" the monster intoned.

"What the fuck?" Mat exclaimed, falling on his ass and scrambling backwards, away from the huge BOW stomping toward him. A hue paw reached out-

BLAM! The monster recoiled its hand in surprise.  
"Back off, jackass!" Jill shouted, fighting the Silver Serpent's recoil for another shot. "He's with me!"

Mat scrambled backwards on all fours. Jill grabbed the front of his jacket and hauled him to his feet, shoving him away as she did so. Mat stumbled a few feet, looking back over his shoulder at her in confusion.

"Run!" she shouted, following her own advice. Behind her, she heard the Tyrant shake its shot up hand out, then growl and begin to stomp after them.

"_STARS_."

Mat was sprinting as fast as he could, the flashlight on his P90 bobbing to his left with each step. Up ahead Jill could see a tall, rusted metal sign attached to a chain link fence. Squinting, she could read the writing across its front.

Manning Trucking and Rail Transport

"Mat, up ahead!" she shouted. She could make out the rectangular shapes of shipping crates. With luck they'd be able to lose their unwanted pursuer here…

"Got it!" Mat replied, bringing the P90 up and firing a burst into the gate as he ran, his bullets sparking off the metal. A luck shot destroyed a large padlock on a rusty chain and Mat lunged at the door, his right shoulder, smashing the gate open. Mat rolled through, pivoting on his knees and bringing the P90 up again, taking aim at the monster as Jill ran toward him.

"No time!" she shouted, grabbing his jacket again and dragging him backward. She heard a crunch of metal as the Tyrant followed, a roar of pure range escaping its mouth.

Jill pulled Mat into the shadows of a shipping crate, clamping a hand over his flashlight, a finger pressed to her lips. Mat nodded, catching on and clicking his flashlight off.

"Split up" Jill hissed.

Mat nodded again, crouching low and moving away, the P90 clutched tightly to his chest.

Jill slid in the opposite direction, darting between two stacks of crates behind the Tyrant's back, the monster standing ominously still in the wreckage of the fence, its shoulders heaving, its bald and grey head scanning from left to right as it hunted them.

Jill pressed her back against the shipping crate, its rough, cold metal against her skin just another sensation in her adrenaline drenched state. Trying to catch her breath, she closed her eyes, leaning her head back, willing her heart to slow down, a stress relief exercise her dad used before a heist and had taught her when she was five to help her with tests at school. It worked every time.

Jill pulled the Silver Serpent out of its holster, swinging out the cylinder and ejecting the shells, taking the two still good cartridges and sliding them back into place, before putting in four more. Carefully she slid the four empty casings to the ground, her heart almost frozen in terror at the possibility of revealing noise. One casing clinked against the metal crate, an insignificant sound which felt closer to a gunshot in the stillness.

The Tyrant stiffened, its breathing changing, a sharp exhalation of surprise. It turned, and Jill could hear its footsteps approaching. _Oh God_ she pleaded, silently in her head. _Oh God please…_

The clatter of a wood plank being knocked over caused the Tyrant to snort and whirl around, its head darting side to side for the source of the noise. Jill took her cue and hurried deeper into the maze of crates. Just as she'd found another spot to hide in the darkness, she heard the Tyrant's heavy boots approaching. Jill squatted and backpeddle, trying to make herself as small as possible, while the Tyrant made its way toward her.

_It's like it can smell me_ Jill thought, watching as the monster's head slowly rolled on its massive neck, its single, milky white eye trying to penetrate the darkness.

Then Jill noticed something else: movement caught in a puddle of water. A suspended crate hanging about fifteen feet from the ground. And crouched atop this swaying perch was Mat, the grenade launcher he'd taken from the precinct aimed over the side, down at the monster, his face pale with fear, his eyes slightly wide as he sighted down the weapon's barrel.

Jill reached down and grabbed a small piece of concrete, hurling it around the corner in Mat's direction. The tiny missile struck his hand and he mouthed a silent exclamation, his eyes darting up to find the source. His eyes locked with Jill's.

_No_ Jill mouthed, shaking her head, waving her arms. _No good._

Mat shook his head, pointing down at the monster.

"Mat!" Jill hissed, causing the monster's head to jerk up, a low growl as it started to pound toward her. Jill ducked around the corner. In the puddle she could still see Mat. The image was distorted by ripples from the Tyrant's approach, but she could see his finger starting to press down on the trigger…

A sudden whirring noise caused the monster to freeze, its head jerking toward the sky. Jill, from where she crouched, could see a twin rotored helicopter buzzing over the city, its hull painted white, a large red cross in the middle.

The monster let out a wordless snarl at the this sight, spinning around to watch the evacuation chopper. Without another sound it stomped away, heading toward the noise.

After about a minute and a half, Jill let out an explosive breath of relief, standing up from the puddle of water she'd been huddling in. She was soaked in yesterday's rain, her legs now stained with soot, but she was alive, and that was enough for Jill.

She stepped out of hiding, heading toward the crate Mat was lying flat on top of. She could hear his breathing, heavy and fast.

"Mat?" she called out.

With a grunt, Mat rolled over and pitched himself off the crate, landing with his knees bent. He stood, his eyes a little wide, but otherwise unhurt.

"That was insane" he managed, a weak smile on his face. "Man, I thought we were screw-"

The attack came from out of nowhere, the Tyrant landing between Mat and Jill, the concrete buckling under its weight. With a backhanded swipe it sent Jill sprawling. She heard Mat scream her name as she hit the ground.

The Tyrant spun around to face him. Mat had the launcher at hip level, and he raised the barrel to point at the Tyrant's face. "Come on, you bast-!" he began, but the monster grabbed weapon, yanking it out of his hands. With a wrenching groan, the weapon's barrel crunched in its fist.

The Tyrant used the weapon's strap to reel Mat in like a fish. With a quick flick of its wrist, it hurled the broken grenade launcher away, wrapping its hand around Mat's skull as it lifted him into the air, the tentacle in its other palm wagging disgustingly. Mat yanked the Colt out of its holster, firing wildly at the monster, but the .45 bullets only flattened against the Tyrant's thick skin.

Jill brought the magnum up without hesitation, aiming down the weapon's sights. Her first shot struck the Tyrant's forearm, causing its fingers to spasm. Her second hit the tentacle dead-on, severing it completely.

The Tyrant screamed in pain, dropping Mat as it clutched its injured hand, stumbling around in agony. It swung drunkenly at Mat with its good fist, but he rolled out of the way. Jill followed up by a shot to the back of the monster's knee, and wonderfully, the monster dropped, catching itself on its clenched fist.

Jill saw Mat come up with a metal cylinder in his hand, shaped like an enormous bullet, its metal casing a sickly yellow. With a savage crack he struck the bottom against a wall, then hurled the grenade at the monster's face. The explosive detonated, showering the monster in acid. It let out a bellow of rage and swatted desperately at its face, the corrosive fluids eating away at its one good eye.

Mat drew his handgun and started shooting up. Jill heard bullets ricocheting and saw what he was shooting at: the cable holding the crate he'd been hiding on.

"Jill-" he shouted unnecessarily.

"Got it" she muttered, raising the .44 and pulling the trigger.

There was a flash of fire from the cylinder as the magnum fired, the bullet spinning its way out of the barrel. With a metallic _ping_ it struck the winch cable, severing it easily. The Tyrant's head darted up in surprise as the container dropped directly on top of it.

"Are you okay?" Jill asked Mat as she made her way toward him.

Mat waved her off. "Yeah, I'm fine, but we gotta go!"

"What?"  
"That _thing_, it's still alive!" Mat shouted back. As if to punctuate this, the wreckage began to shift, a huge hand smashing out of the rubble of the metal container. "We've gotta go!"

"Alright, come on!" Jill shouted, hurrying for the door.

"Jill, wait!"

She turned to look at him, puzzled. "What?"  
"Remember what I told you? We've got to split up! Otherwise, that thing will just keep finding us for sure! This is where we go our separate ways."

"Mat, what are you-?"

"Jill, run!" Mat shouted, darting away from her and scrambling up a container as the monster continued to free itself from the rubble.

"See you on the other side!" he shouted over his shoulder as he leapt the gap between his container and the fence and was lost from sight.

"See you on the other side" Jill replied, quietly, before turning and running for the exit, the sounds of the Tyrant struggles to dig itself out of the rubble growing fainter and fainter behind her.


	19. Shakedown

Chapter 17: Shakedown

(DEAN)

"It'll be just up ahead" he told John, pointing down the street. They'd been heading this direction for the past fifteen minutes, and aside from a couple of hasty detours around streets choked with infected, there hadn't been any major hang ups. Dean allowed himself to relax a little, for the first time since this time yesterday. Maybe things were starting to go-

BLAM!

With a tortured cough, the SUV came to an abrupt stop. Steam rose directly through a brand new hole in the vehicle's hood.

"What was that?" asked the new cop. Dean thought he was a pilot, Vicks or some such thing.

"We just got fuckin' shot!" John snapped, kicking his door open and dropping into the street. Dean snatched up his SPAS and followed suit, Mac and Lewis following suit behind him. Vicks, or whatever his name was, didn't have a weapon, and instead hunched low in the backseat, moaning to himself. Dean rolled his eyes in disgust…only to have that irritation turn to shocked fear at the warning click of a rifle less than five inches from his right eye.

"Don't you move" a sharp voice instructed. Dean's eye shifted a little to his right, allowing him to detect the flash hider of an M16, clutched in the hands of a man in military grade fatigues.

"Now, nice and slow, drop the shotgun, and reach for the sky" the man continued, his voice still quiet. Dean did as he was instructed, placing the weapon on the curb, then raising his hands over his head.

"Good, now on your knees" the man continued. Dean again followed instructions, dropping down to his knees. He could see the others doing the same.

"Now, how about you tell me what you guys are doing out here, so heavily armed?" the soldier asked, his voice still calm.

There was a startled exclamation as two soldiers grabbed the other cop and dragged him out of the SUV, throwing him onto the pavement. "Don't move" one of them barked.

"We're trying to get to the Arklay Lookout" Dean answered, trying to keep his eyes on the first soldier. He had two stripes on his shoulder, a nametag the front of his uniform. GREER. "We're survivors from the RPD."

"That so?" the soldier asked. He gestured toward the mercenaries. "They don't look like cops to me."

"Piss off" John spat.

A soldier braced his foot against his back and sent him sprawling. John started to stand up, only to have the flash hider of an M16 pressed against the back of his head.

"Give me a reason, motherfucker, I dare you" the soldier said, his voice deadly calm.

"Wallace, stand down" said the soldier who'd started asking questions.

"But Corporal, these could be with the guys that got York-"

"I said _stand down, soldier_" the corporal said, his voice quiet and cold.

With an irritated huff, Wallace lowered his rifle.

"Now, I suspect we might've gotten off on the wrong foot" Greer continued. "Let's try again. Who are you, where are you from, and why were you heading toward my quarantine zone?"

"We're with a PMC" Lewis replied. "Umbrella sent us in to safeguard their employees. It should all check out."

"That's awful funny" said the soldier standing over him, a pained sneer on his face. "Awful funny, cuz the last guys we ran into claiming to be with Umbrella shot us up."

"Yeah, we had a run-in with them about a few hours ago" Dean said. "They shot us up pretty bad. I caught a bullet in the leg, been limping around ever since. I'm telling you, we're legit."

Greer looked like he was thinking that over for a minute. "Maybe you are, and maybe you aren't." He gestured to his left, where figures were already starting to shamble toward them. "In any case, we're starting to get kinda popular, so I think we'll have to continue this discussion somewhere else." He knelt down and picked up Dean's SPAS. "Twelve gauge. Very nice. I think I'll hold onto this for a while." He turned to the rest of his men. "Get 'em up. Double time. I didn't come this far to be some dead ass idiot's lunch." He raised his index finger, pressing down on a button that seemed to be in his ear, speaking now into the boom mike attached to his helmet. "Delmont! Stay off the Barret. We're gonna walk oughtta this one, nice and slow, nice and quiet. Copy?" There was an affirmative hiss of static, then nothing.

"Alright guys, let's go!" Greer snapped, quietly. "We're almost home. Nice and easy." He turned to Dean. "You and your guys best stay with us, seeing as how we've taken your big guns. Any of you try to run, though, and I guarantee you'll sprout a nice, new half-inch hole you didn't even now you wanted. Got it?"

Dean nodded. "Do I have a choice?"

Greer cracked a half smile. "You know, I think I'm starting to like you. God I hope you're actually a cop. I hate shooting people I like."

And on that note, they set off.

(BILLY)

"One helluva view, don't you think?" Major Nero asked, staring out at the burning city below him. "I mean, were it not for the zombie apocalypse going on down there, I'd certainly not have a hard time seeing why people pay" he paused, squinting at a menu in his left hand, "more than you make in a month to eat up here."

"Untie me, and maybe I'll help you see it from outside" Billy replied, from where he knelt between two of Nero's Marines. _No_ he corrected himself. _These guys aren't Marines. Not anymore. They're just thugs in uniform._

Nero shook his head, chuckling a little. "Yeah, I'll bet you'd like that. Solve everything with your fists. You know, Coen, you haven't changed a bit. Same old cut and dry. So predictable. So…boring." He sighed, turning to face Billy. "You know, when you killed those guards, I thought maybe you'd finally broken. I thought you'd finally realized you needed to do what had to be done. Then I see you here, paling around with cops, and I realize you're still the same idiot you were back in Africa. It's a shame. Had things been different, maybe you'd have actually been on the road to greater things. Instead, here we are. Again."

"What are you talking about?" Billy replied. "In Africa you were just a sick son of a bitch who liked killing. Why come all this way? Why put yourself through the unnecessary risk? I mean, you _have_ noticed all the fucked up shit going on below us, right?"

Nero shook his head. "You've never been one to see beyond the situation. You're too busy worrying about tactics, the how, that you never bother to see strategy. The _why_. That's why you were always gonna be serving others. That's why you'll never lead."

"So, enlighten me" Billy replied, his mind racing, trying to figure out what was going on.

"You never had a head for opportunity. I did. It's really that simple. Whether it's a village full of savages sitting on top of an abandoned research facility, or a town overrun with biological weapons, there's always a chance for a man like me to make a decent profit."

"So that's your game? You're working for Umbrella?"

Nero snorted. "Not hardly. Umbrella's finished. Their labs' destroyed. Their employees dead…those that aren't out there eating folks. No, Umbrella's fucked. I'm with the new kid on the block, people who've got more resources than you can even begin to imagine. People who can make all this" he gestured to the burning city out the window "disappear. But that's all you're going to get from me. On to more important things. Have you seen my gun?"

Billy blinked. "What?"

"My gun? I think you saw it back in Kijuju. Well, I think I'll reacquaint you." Nero reached into his holster and drew out a long barreled handgun, a big laser sight fixed to the chromed slide. "AMT Hardballer Longslide. Fires .454 magnum. It's not quiet .50 Action Express, but one shot'll still kill a man. I call her the Killer 7, on account of I killed seven men with her the first time I used her. She was a little…pot sweetener from my new friends at the time." Nero placed the barrel of the weapon against Billy's chin. Billy steeled his resolve, doing his best not to flinch away from the cold steel. "How's it feel, Coen? Knowing you're less than seven pounds of trigger pressure away from having your brains painting the ceiling?"

Billy snorted. "Better men then you have been closer to ending me. You don't have the balls. I'm not afraid of you."

The blow came as not much of a surprise, the magnum's grip smashing across his face. Billy felt blood begin to dribble down his chin.

"Now look at that, Coen, you got your blood all over my gun" Nero said, mock irritably. "Damn. This thing cost more than your life's worth" he muttered, rubbing the weapon clean with a cloth. He ran his finger along the slide. "You like the engraving? I had that done custom too. Still, figure I'm gonna have get that change. I mean, once I kill you and your little girlfriend, not to mention those other cops you brought along, I figure it'll be closer to Killer 12. Doesn't have quite the same ring to it, though."

"You son of a bitch!" Billy snarled, lunging for Nero.

The Major took a step backward, smiling. "Everyone has a breaking point, Coen. Even idiot idealists like you. All it takes is a little brain power."  
"Why are you doing this? Why not just kill me?"

Nero shrugged. "You know, I really haven't thought that one through all the way. I guess it's because there are still some other people I'm waiting for, and I guess I'd be bored without something to do." He stepped past Billy, heading for the door. "You be a good boy, and maybe I'll make it easy on your friends." He stopped in the doorway. "Well, easier." Then he was gone, leaving Billy alone.

He was starting to wish he'd died back in July.

(DEAN)

The barricade in front of the Arklay Lookout was one of the most impressive Dean had seen, and after the various police actions he'd taken part in over the last few hours, he was starting to think of himself as an expert on modern fortifications.

There were sandbags along its width, bulging in places with machinegun mounts. The bags were heaped in front of concrete highway dividers, which doubled as convenient rests for several dozen riflemen, all with their weapons trained out. Two prefabricated guard towers stood nearby, with more visible machineguns. Dean suspected there were also men armed with scoped rifles in some of the nearby buildings.

The soldiers had been joined by Delmont a few minutes earlier, a man wearing completely black fatigues and carrying what might've been the biggest rifle Dean had ever seen. The man didn't talk much, and he made even less noise as he walked. Dean thought of him as the place where sound went to die.

"Campbell!" one of the soldiers called out.

"Boomstick!" Greer shouted back, finishing what must've been some sort of code. Greer's response must've been the right one, since he didn't sudden sprout a bunch of new holes. The soldiers made their way toward the barricade, ignoring the zombies milling around a few dozen yards away.

"Those things are stupid" Greer explained as they moved. "We don't shoot at them, and they forget we're here…generally. Still, we stay off the pigs till we have enough to justify all the noise."

Dean thought back to the defense of the RPD building, and all the unnecessary shooting, the unending swarms of infected from all sides. Maybe if they'd held their fire, things would've gone differently.

"We'll check your weapons here" Greer said, pointing to a table. "If you are who you say you are, you'll get your handguns back, but everything else has to stay here."

Dean nodded slowly, unholstering his Beretta and setting it on the table with the other weapons. An M14 and UMP already lay there, along with a motley collection of rifles and shotguns, soon joined by Mac and Lewis's assault rifles and John's dart gun.

Greer nodded. "Okay, come with us. We'll get this all sorted out."

He led them toward a ten with a large red cross on top of it. "In here" he told a confused Dean, holding a flap up so he and the others could enter.

A young woman came striding toward them. "Corporal, what's the problem? Has someone been bitten, or-hey, I know you!"

"Well, I guess that answers one question" Greer said. "Rebecca, we found these guys outside. They said they were cops, and since you're also a cop, I figured you might be able to vouch for them."

Rebecca Chambers nodded, the motion causing the light to shift on her face, revealing a big bruise. "Yeah, I know him, and-Brad? What are _you_ doing here? We thought you'd already left."

"Believe me," said the other cop, "I wish I had. But…here I am."

"Where have you been? Why didn't you report to the station like everyone else?"

"I tried" Brad answered. "But there were two many zombies. Then I ran into Mat, then Jill, but that big _thing_ showed up, and…um, we got separated."

"You saw Mat?" Rebecca asked, her eyes lighting up. "He's alive? Where? When?"

"This morning" Brad replied. "But…I'm sure he's okay."

"I better go get Chase and Karen" Rebecca said, turning to look at Dean. "It's good to see you, uh-"

"Dean."

"Right. Good to see you, Dean." She turned to John, eying him a little distastefully. "And you too."

John mock bowed. "The pleasure is mine" he replied, sarcastically.

Rolling her eyes, Rebecca headed for the flap.

Greer turned to Dean. "Well, it looks like you're on the up and up. Sorry to have doubted you."

Dean shook his head. "Hey man, better safe than sorry."

"Something like that. Well, I better go get your stuff. Feel free to move around, just stay out of any areas soldiers tell you not to enter. And if we catch you looting, there's no warning. We'll just shoot you."

"Wonderful" Dean muttered as the soldier ducked under the tent flap.

A second later it rose again, revealing Rebecca, along with Chase Mathison and Karen Danvers.

"Good to see you made it, Travers" Chase said. "I figured you'd probably find your way here."

"Thanks sir."  
"Chase, he says he's seen Mat-" Rebecca began, but Chase cut her off.

"We can worry about Mat later. Right now, we've got bigger, and more immediate problems."

"Like what, sir?" Dean asked.

Chase lifted the flap of the tent and pointed to the top of the large wooden structure dominating the area. "Well, it's like this. There's a man up there's been wrongly accused. They're planning to execute him. _I_ plan to fix that." He looked at Dean and the mercenaries. "What can you do to help me?"


	20. From the Shadows

Chapter 18:

From the Shadows

(ANNETTE)

There were people in William's lab. People she didn't know, wondering through his workspace, upsetting experiments, rooting through his files, and generally making themselves a nuisance. Worse still, she'd lost sight of William. The last time she'd seen him, he'd been on his way toward the surface. She suspected he'd made his way up to the police precinct, where he'd be sure to make life hell for those officers still trapped inside, but at the moment, that wasn't Annette's concern.

Green was still inside, and with her, an opportunity to revenge herself on at least one of the people who'd killed her husband, as well as rid herself of the irritating interlopers..

A small smile crept across Annette Birkin's face. She knew just how to do it, too.

(ALYSSA)

She wasn't sure why she'd expected things to be different, but Alyssa was finding it got colder the farther down she went. Ridiculously so, in fact.

She'd run as fast as she could to get away from the giant monster tree thing, but that still left her in a frozen over lab. Worse, there were infected stuck to several of the walls. They couldn't get off, being frozen solid, but if they were to thaw, she'd be fucked.

Keeping a white knuckled grip on the handgun, Alyssa did her best not to think about it. Instead, she decided to concentrate on the task at hand. Unfortunately, that didn't do her much good, since she had no idea where she needed to go.

The lab's corridors seemed to be built at all kinds of sharp, awkward angles. Alyssa couldn't figure out why, and it gave her the creeps. Damn near anything could be waiting around the corner, ready to pounce…

"Stop it" she muttered, shaking her head, as she made her way down the slippery corridor, her boots clicking loudly on the ice.

At random, Alyssa turned to the right and headed down a narrow hallway. At the end was a door, adorned only with the same black and yellow CAUTION sticker she'd seen everywhere else in the building. Reaching out, she grabbed the handle with her left hand and yanked…only to have the door refuse to budge.

"Son of a bitch" she muttered, grunting, as she continued to strain at the door. Finally she shoved the handgun into her waistband, then grabbed the door with both hands and yanked down as hard as she could. With a metallic groan, it swung open.

The first thing that hit Alyssa was the smell, like mildew, washing over her like a wave. Then there was the sensation of moistness, like she'd just stepped into a sauna. It took her a few seconds to realize she wasn't cold in here, like it was everywhere else.

The room was some sort of mini lab, with two large tanks on the right wall and a small computer terminal in an alcove on the far left side. Covering the wall directly in front of her, though, were dozens of the most disgusting creatures Alyssa had ever seen.

They looked like maggots, round and pasty and squirming disgustingly, except they were as long as Alyssa's forearm and couldn't possibly have come into being through normal means. Alyssa had a hard time not gagging at the thought of those things touching her, so much so that she didn't hear the rasping sound of approaching wings.

She _did_ notice the fat rustling sound as the giant moth wiggled its way through an air duct, carrying something in its legs.

"Fuck!" Alyssa exclaimed, taking a step back and raising the handgun, only to have the moth drop its load before turning and squeezing itself back out the way it came.

The object in question groaned and rolled over, and Alyssa realized it was Kevin.

"What the _hell_?" he moaned, sitting up and rubbing tenderly at his back. Then he saw the wall of maggots (_or larva_, Alyssa realized), and let out a somewhat girlish cry of disgust. "What the hell!" he shouted, scrambling away and bumping Alyssa in the process.

"Oh, uh, hi" he managed, somewhat embarrassed by his display.

"Real nice" Alyssa responded, snorting.

"Weren't you with one of the scientists? What was his name, uh-?"

"York," Alyssa replied, "and he's dead. Some of those…things are loose upstairs." She shook her head. "And I don't even know where I'm supposed to go."

"I can help with that" said the disembodied voice of a woman, from somewhere above them.

Kevin and Alyssa's heads both snapped up, searching for the source of the noise.

"Who's there?" Kevin shouted, drawing his .45.

"That's not important" the voice replied. "What _is_ important is I can help you people get out of here. All you have to do is listen to me."

Kevin looked over at Alyssa. She shrugged.

"Why not?" Kevin asked. "What have we got to lose?"

(MARK)

They hadn't quite made it to the camera room when the temperature suddenly and unexpectedly began to rise. Mark and Leary stopped, back to back, crouching down, their weapons aimed up as they scanned the corridor.

"What's that?" Mark asked the guard.

"I dunno" he replied. "It sounds like somebody restarted the environmental systems. That's what Hughes was supposed to be doing, wasn't it?"  
"I don't know" Mark replied, irritably. "Let's just go. We gotta find Kevin before that moth thing eats him."

"Right. Follow me."

Mark walked backwards, sweeping the M16 right and left, his eyes narrowed as he squinted over the rifle's sights. Then he heard an odd, lopping sound from somewhere behind him. "What the hell?" he muttered, half turning.

"Holy shit!" Leary exclaimed as a giant green _thing_ launched itself out of the darkness, a wickedly sharp claw raised to strike. The guard brought up his handgun, a big Desert Eagle, and fired a single bullet, catching the monster in the chest and canceling its momentum, throwing it back down. The monster landed on its back, thrashing around and screaming loudly. Leary stepped forward and shot it again, the magnum kicking in his trembling hands.

"Jesus" he muttered. "What the fucking _hell_ was that?"

"I don't know," Mark replied, "but we got to go. Something will have heard that."

(MONICA)

Someone did hear the screaming, dying monster, and knew exactly what it was.

"Shit, shit, shit" Monica Green muttered to herself, head down, as she hurried down the corridor as fast as her skirt would allow. There was the tram, just up ahead. All she had to do was make it to the control room, and she'd be home free.

If there were hunters on the loose, then things were thawing out all over the labs, and it wouldn't be any time at all before she was up to her eyeballs in lickers or chimera Bs. Whatever Mrs. Dr. Birkin had done to the environmental systems to slow down Monica's sabotage, someone else was considerately undoing. While in theory the ensuing confusion would make her escape easier, in practice it meant she had to wade through

She wasn't sure what was happening. There was the possibility it was another Umbrella team, or even the one that had left her behind, but Monica doubted it. She'd seen the way things were on the surface. Umbrella had to be running scared, trying to keep the outbreak quiet. There was no time for them to send another team down here to check on things, not with so many highly lethal BOWs roaming the streets.

That meant it was someone else, some other interested party. Possibly a rival corporation, possibly the government itself. Monica didn't care. So long as they stayed out of her way, she intended to stay out of theirs.

There was the tram's control box. Monica felt a grin break out over her face. This was going to be even easier than she'd thought. She had her own ID card, but the system required two. Fortunately for her, she'd made sure Yoko's information never got deleted from the system, and when her former colleague had so helpfully shown up, Monica had realized everything was going to be okay. Now she was just a turn of a knob from-

"What?" she demanded, turning the circuit again and again. Still there was no response. "Great" she muttered. "Now I have to fix this too?"

"Hello Monica."

Monica's eyes widened at the voice. She hunkered down next to the panel, the Beretta Cougar clutched in her right hand as she searched frantically for the source of the voice. "D-doctor Birkin?" she stammered. _Now what?_

"It really hasn't been all that long, has it?" Annette Birkin's voice asked from thin air. "I don't suppose I need to ask you why you did it. You're holding the reason right now. What I want to know is this: what gives you the _right_?" Birkin's voice was cold, emotionless, but quivering slightly, as if she was having a hard time keeping it under control. "What gave you the right to destroy everything William and I ever worked for?"

Monica rolled her eyes. "Seriously? Lady, you're insane. Everything you and your husband ever had you took from someone else. Why get mad because someone else did it to you?"

There was a pause over the microphone. Monica imagined Birkin struggling to keep it together, and smiled a little. The voice that came over the intercom froze that smile in place.

"Well, I won't waste my time on this discussion anymore. You'll get to explain it to William yourself soon enough."

"What are you talking about?" William Birkin was dead, wasn't he? She'd seen the video from his lab, seen what the USS soldiers had done to him…

"Goodbye, Monica." There was a click and the intercom, wherever it was, went dead.

Monica's eyes darted around, sweeping for some sign of danger, her breathing coming faster. She paused, forcing herself to calm down. _It's okay. We're so close now…_

The hunter attack came out of nowhere, the big, green skinned monster suddenly right in front of her, swinging a vicious claw swipe at her throat. Monica screamed and interposed the capsule between herself and the monster. There was a renting sound, somewhat akin to a car crash, as the hunter tore through the side of the case. With a scream of pure adrenaline-fueled survival, Monica swung the capsule as hard as she could at the hunter's face. There was a crack as the metal struck the monster's skull, teeth flying free of its lantern jaw. The hunter stumbled back, letting out a surprised half-shriek, missing most of its fangs. Then it lurched after Monica, who was already running.

There was a back-up route she could take, she knew. The tram was more convenient, routing as it did all the way to the old UMTC building, the line still standing even after the facility had inexplicably blown up over the summer. But the executive elevator would just as surely get her out of the lab, and at this point that was good enough for Monica.

She could hear the hunter loping after her, its angular gait making an odd noise as its awkwardly long limbs whistled through the air.

Monica took a bad step, the toe of her shoe hitting the floor just right to send her sprawling, the capsule spinning away. She held onto the handgun, reflexively squeezing off a round into the wall. She rolled, bringing the 9mm up even as she knew it would be futile, knew the specifications the MA-121 had been grown to.

But the hunter let out a squeal of surprise and turned around, fleeing back the way it had come.

Monica stared after it in confusion, her head cocked to the side as a shadow fell over her. Her head whipped around, and Monica saw a huge, dark shape looming over her, a hideous monstrosity the likes of which she'd never seen before, but which she instantly recognized nonetheless.

"Oh God-" she began, too scared even to scream, as the monster's fist came down on her head. Then all became black.

(YOKO)

Yoko had tagged along with Cindy, George, Dustin, and Jim as they explored the facility. George seemed to think there might be something of value hidden away down here, and the others hadn't had anything better to do…

Yoko couldn't shake the feeling that she'd been here before. She didn't know where it was coming from, but it nagged at the corner of her brain, like the headache that hadn't really gone away since yesterday. Yoko didn't understand any of this, but it was what it was. _Shi gata ga nai_, as her mother used to say. It couldn't be helped.

The others were rifling through some of the lockers they'd discovered near the bottom of the facility. Aside from some truly impressive blood splatters on the wall and a ridiculously large plant that really needed no introduction, they hadn't found much of interest as they made their descent. Now they were in a partially frozen laboratory, trying to pry open the lockers lining two of its four walls.

"Man, what do you think are in these things?" Jim asked nobody in particular, taking a break from working on one of the metal lockers with a crowbar he'd taken from upstairs.

"I don't know" Cindy replied. "But it's gotta be something pretty special for them to lock it down, right?"

"Are you kidding?" Dustin asked. "With our luck, it'll probably be some asshole's gym shorts or something."

George looked at him like he wanted to say something, then shook his head, apparently deciding it wasn't worth it.

Yoko, for her part, kept doing what she always did when conflict was brewing. She stayed quiet, and hoped things would pass her by. Up until yesterday, it seemed like that strategy had worked pretty well.

There was a metal plate on the locker in front of Yoko. It seemed oddly familiar. Curious, she reached out and brushed some of the frost from its face. Then she inhaled sharply, feeling her eyes widen as she read the inscription on the metal.

SUZUKI,Y.

_It's just a coincidence_ she told herself, even as another cascade of images flooded through her mind. They were more refined now, a single sequence of events, like fast forwarding a video tape, rather than rapidly changing channels on a TV: _first, a small, white mouse was admitted to a small glass box. A little while later, several cockroaches were released into the box. It was immediately evident to Yoko something was wrong with the insects: several were dragging ruined limbs, while the carapaces of others were dented and broken. The mouse huddled in on itself, clearly afraid of the roaches. It was immediately obvious to the Yoko why, as the roaches pounced on the rat, tearing it apart in an angry frenzy. Yoko felt sick as she watched what was happening, feeling bile rise up in her stomach as she realized just what she was helping to create._

The next images were more chaotic: _Yoko saw herself standing in front of a flat, scanner-like panel, pressing her palm against it. The panel retracted, revealing a large handgun. Yoko saw herself aiming that weapon at several people in white lab coats: a young man with a goatee, a severe looking blonde woman, and another, older man with thinning hair._

_ "You don't want to do this" he was saying, a look of concern, rather than fear, on his face. Yoko could see her hand trembling as she squeezed the gun tightly, her knuckles white. Then something slammed down on the back of her head, and Yoko's world went black. Just before she hit the ground, she saw someone standing over her. Strangely, it looked just like the cop who'd saved her yesterday…_

Yoko leaned against the wall for a moment, trying to recover. She looked over at the others, but none of them had noticed her episode.

Then something else occurred to her. Yoko had been here before. Take away all the ice, and this was the room she'd just seen in her…what? _Flashback? Psychotic episode? What's going on with me?_

Yoko decided to test her theory. She made her way toward a likely looking panel on the wall, a tile only slightly less round than the others, but nonetheless well disguised from those who didn't know what to look for. Casually she placed her hand against it. There was a whirring sound, faint but audible, and the panel slowly pulled back into the wall. And just like Yoko had seen in her mind's eye, there was a gun inside, along with two spare magazines.

Gingerly, Yoko reached out and touched the weapon. It was a big handgun with a large barrel and a metal body cold from the frigid air. **.50 Action Express** was engraved on the side of the weapon, a strange emblem that looked sort of like IMI on the grip.

Yoko's eyes were wide, and she looked around again to make sure no one had seen her, but the others were still focused on one of the lockers.

"Almost got it" Jim grated, leaning hard on the crowbar, with George and Dustin pulling hard at either end of the door, the metal groaning under the strain.

On impulse, Yoko snatched up the handgun and shoved it into her waistband, scooping up the two magazines and slipping them into her bag. Then she took a step back, trying to figure out how to close the door, only to have it solve that problem for her by sliding back into place.

There was a loud crash as the others managed to pry the locker open.

"What have we here?" Jim asked, peering inside.

"Told you" Dustin said triumphantly. "Just some asshole's clothes."

"Hang on" said George, reaching inside and removing a small, handgun-like object from the floor of the locker. "What do you think this is?" he asked, studying the device curiously. "It almost looks like it's designed to shoot something. Not bullets, though. The bore is too big."

"Maybe these?" Cindy asked, holding up a handful of small, plastic cylinders. They looked to be about the right diameter to fit inside the large tube atop the gun-thing George was holding.

"Maybe…" he replied, taking them from her and sliding one into place. There was a hiss of compressed air. "Why, it's some kind of capsule shooter! Maybe a tranq gun or something? In any case, it might come in handy."

Just then, the doors at the far end of the room hissed open. Everyone jumped, Dustin starting to unsling his rifle, but they relaxed when Kevin and Alyssa walked into the room.

"How's it going?" Kevin asked, looking around. "Find anything interesting?"

George held up the capsule shooter. "Just this, Officer."

"What the hell is it? And please, Doc, it's Kevin."

"Okay, um, Kevin. Well, it's some kind of air gun. It shoots these little cartridges, but I have no idea to what point or purpose. Might come in handy, though."

"Maybe" Kevin repeated. He looked over at Yoko, who still hadn't reintegrated herself with the rest of the group. "What about you? Find anything?"  
Yoko wasn't sure why, but she shook her head. "No. So sorry."

Kevin shrugged, smiling a little. "Hey, no worries. I think we may've found something pretty awesome ourselves."

"What's that?" George asked.

"A way out" Alyssa replied. She was grinning.

(DAVID)

Returning to the meeting room and finding it deserted, David had started wondering the facility, FAL slung on his back, Python in his hand like he was Dirt Goddamn Harry or something, the look on his face just begging someone to make his day.

"You weren't planning on leaving me behind?" he growled, striding into the railcar terminal, the last place he hadn't checked, to find the rest of his plucky little group of survivors all standing around, looking about ready to do just that.

"Well, you wonder off on your own, don't tell anyone where you're going or how long you'll be gone, and what do you expect?" Ryman asked, meeting his gaze evenly. David stared back for a moment, then let his eyes travel across the rest of the group. This guy was going to be a problem, he decided. He'd have to go.

"Where's Hughes?" Ewing asked, looking irritated.

"Dead" David replied, telling the truth. He found lying had a way of coming back and biting you in the ass. "Some of those things are loose in the lower levels, so unless anyone else has a better idea…"

"What are we gonna do about her?" the black guy, Jim, asked, pointing to something David couldn't quite see.

"What do you mean?" Cindy asked, her eyes a little wide. "She's a person, isn't she? What exactly are we discussing here?"

"We'll take her with us, of course" Ryman said. "Would any of us want to be left behind in a place like this?"

"But where has she been all this time?" Ewing asked. "You ask me, something's funny here. I mean, we've never had a containment breach before. Somebody _had_ to have helped things along. Our security's just too good."

"Fine" Ryman replied. "We take her with us, and when she comes to, we ask her some questions. That sound better?"

"Still doesn't sound good" Ewing insisted.

"Not only your call."

The big black guy, Mark, shifted, and David got a look at what they were talking about: an unconscious woman lying on the ground in front of them, a shattered briefcase next to her.

Ryman pointed to Mark. "Here, help me get her inside. I think it's time we got the hell out of this place. Then I think I'll have some other questions I'd like answered as well" he added, shooting a pointed look at Ewing.

David, for his part, ignored the byplay. Honestly, he was just as glad to get out of this unnatural place. He wasn't exactly scientist material, but he was smart enough to put two and two together, and it was clear to him that something horrible had gone on down here. He snorted, squeezing himself onto a bench next to Yoko and ignoring the frosty look he got from that Alyssa bitch. This was what happened when people decided to play God. Shit always fucked up. David looked down at the Python, still in his hand, two cartridges discharged. Slowly, casually, he reloaded, his mind still turning as he planned his next move.

It was best to stick to the things he could control, and David had always considered himself the master of his own fate. Not even a city full of undead cannibals could change that.


	21. Prey

Chapter 19: Prey

FBI Special Agent Derek Norton was running, literally, for his life. He could hear them coming, feel the bullets as they raced past his body as the strange black clad soldiers continued to hunt him. He had no idea who they were, but he knew what they wanted. Him. Dead.

Derek could remember when he first arrived in Raccoon City, back in July, to assist in the Forest Murders investigation. Unfortunately, Raccoon City was smack dab in the middle of Colorado, and since there was no reason to believe the suspects were flitting in and out of state lines, for the most part he'd just sat around his hotel room at the Apple Inn and done nothing. It wasn't even like Raccoon City was a major tourist destination. There was nothing to do. The town didn't even have a field division, meaning had Derek wanted to get some work done, he'd have to go all the way to Boulder. Mostly, he just sat around, missing Dawn and Tim, hoping the kid wasn't already walking…

Then the day before, everything had gone to hell, and in the last thirty hours, Derek had been on the run, first from the apparent zombies roaming the streets, and now from this group of who knew what.

"Don't let him get away!" shouted one of them, a woman, from behind him. She had an accent, definitely not a local. Almost…_French?_ he wondered, casting the thought aside as another burst of rifle fire shattered the windshield of a parked car to his right. He ran faster, weaving, his head hunched low to minimize his profile. He needed to get off the street, but didn't know where to go…

_There_ he thought, lunging over the hood of a car and worming his way across. With an awkward thud, he landed on his face, giving himself a bloody nose, but ignoring it in his desperate flight.

"_Merde!_" the woman behind him called. "He's breaking from cover! Specter, take him!"

_What the fuck?_ Derek had time to wonder, before another, deeper-throated rifle joined the barrage. He remembered the sound from a Cuban Red Army group he'd helped run down outside Tampa. Heckler and Koch G3 battle rifle. _Shit._

Derek was back on his feet, his handgun, a Smith & Wesson 1076 in his right hand, blind firing as he dodged left and right, not thinking which way he'd dodge next, lest he become predictable. He took a left, noting as he did a shape following him along the roves, hopping like some disturbing rabbit. The sniper was out his reach, though, so he just kept running, head down, figuring he was probably more aerodynamic that way.

He hung a sharp right, swinging around a parked car, and falling flat on his stomach, his handgun skittering away. He started to scramble for it, but some sixth sense caused him to duck his head. A second later, a ridiculous looking hand axe swung through the air, missing scalping him by no more than an inch. He rolled onto his back see a figure standing over him in black combat armor, a G36 slung over her shoulder. She started to bring the axe down, but he raised both feet and kicked her in the stomach, causing her to stagger back. Another kick and she was stumbling, and Derek rolled back onto his feet and was running again, leaving his handgun behind.

The alley let him out in another intersection, the stoplights all flashing red. Derek took a quick moment to look around, and almost bought a plot because of it, two shots cracking loudly in the air. Derek ducked down and scuttled away, head low, as he tried to find an avenue of escape.

He could hear bullets as they impacted on the pavement around him, and realized he needed to get out of the open. Using his forearms to shield his face, he leapt through a nearby building's front window, glass flying forward. Derek rolled, coming to his feet, just in time to realize a shard of glass had imbedded itself in his leg, and that furthermore he wouldn't be running anywhere else anytime soon. Swearing to himself, he drew his other handgun, a compact Glock 23 he normally carried as a backup, and hobbled toward the back of the store. If he was lucky, maybe they'd decide he wasn't worth the trouble. Not likely, but possible.

"Crap" he said softly at the sound of heavy boots on broken glass.

"Where did he go?" a new voice asked, quiet and accented like something from Eastern Europe.

"Shit, that Fed's long gone, man" said another voice, this one deeper and definitely American.

_They know who I am_ Derek realized. _They must have somebody inside the Bureau. _Either that, or someone high in the local PD. No one else knew he was here…

"_Nien_" said another voice, also a woman, and clearly German. "That is arterial blood. He is _vounded. _He will not make it far."

Derek looked down at the glass shard in his leg. It was already stained dark from blood. He reached down and gently tucked at it, only to have sharp pain shoot through his body. _Okay, leave it for later_.

"Spread out" said the Frenchwoman. "Find him and complete the mission."

Derek pressed himself up against the wall, his breathing sharper, the Glock raised in both hands next to his head, as the sounds of heavy boots drew closer and closer. Whoever these guys were, they weren't just common thugs, they wanted him dead, and worse, they knew exactly who they were after. Someone was targeting government agents, and that meant-

"Hello" said the deep voice. Derek whirled around, Glock in both hands, to find himself staring at the wrong end of a SPAS-12 held in the hands of what he could only describe as Darth Vader with glowing blue eyes.

"Oh-" he began, his finger tensing on the trigger of the Glock, but its report was lost in the louder bang of the shotgun. Derek saw Dawn's face, smiling; then there was a flash of light, and suddenly he was numb all over and lying on his back. Vader stood over him.

"This is Beltway" he said calmly. "I got him. Bastard dented my armor though." He paused. "Guy's still moving, Lupo. Want me to finish him?"

"Negative" the Frenchwoman's voice replied over a microphone Derek couldn't see. "Don't waste the shell. The infected will take care of this one. Move out."

"Yes ma'am" Vader replied. "See ya 'round, G-Man" he told Derek, before turning and walking away from the dying FBI agent.


	22. Meetings

Chapter 20: Meetings

(JILL)

Jill's entire body was sore. She felt as if she been run over by a street sweeper. Slowly she stumbled along, her Samurai Edge aimed at the ground and resting against her leg, her eyes darting in every direction. The least of her concerns was another encounter with hunters. She was more worried about a bigger monster…

Up ahead she could see a flickering neon sign. She could only make out the last part. Something DINER. She shrugged inwardly, heading in that direction. Maybe there was something inside she could eat. Just as likely, there'd be something inside trying to eat _her_, but she figured she could handle herself.

(CARLOS)

Carlos leaned his carbine against the wall as he undid his fly, basking in the relief of the moment coupled with the fact that he managed to remain civilized and use an actual bathroom. He'd found the diner deserted after a quick but thorough sweep, and decided to take advantage of the situation and rest a minute. He needed to grab some food for himself and the LT, but that could stand to be put on hold for about five minutes. Then he'd stuff his various bandolier pouches (he was just about out of ammo, anyway) with as much food as he could, before trucking back to the railcar.

Carlos shook his hands dry and reached for his M4, only to hear a sound from the restaurant that made him freeze up. It was a footstep, then another, steady and determined, not the sloppy shuffle of the infected. Carlos picked up the carbine, clicking it over to semi-auto, tucking it close to his chest as he gently kneed the swinging door open, keeping the weapon low as he moved cautiously toward the source of the noise.

He wasn't sure what his plan of action would be. If it was a looter, he'd have to…_What?_ he asked himself. _You're looting too. What are you gonna say, _jefe? _I was here first?_

Carlos made sure to watch his footing, as well as being equally careful not to lead too much with his weapon. He placed his back up against a wall, before whirling around the corner.

He caught a flash of blue and heard a shout that sounded vaguely feminine, before a leather booth slammed into the barrel of his carbine, jerking it up. Carlos was too experienced to have his finger on the trigger, so no shot discharged, but the impact still caused him to stagger backward. He tried to bring the M4 back down, only to have it knocked out of his hands entirely by another kick. Quickly his hand dropped down to his right thigh, were his Sig P226, the standard handgun of the UBCS, lived. He jerked it out of its holster just in time to find himself staring down the wrong end of the biggest damn revolver he'd ever seen…in the hands of one of the hottest women he'd ever met.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa _chica_" he said, smiling casually, dropping the half-raised pistol and raising his hands. "I think we may have a misunderstanding here-"

"Can it" the woman snapped, her eyes narrowed. "You have thirty seconds to tell me who the fuck you are, or your brains decorate the wall. Got it?"

"Easy, easy! I can't just-"

"Ten seconds."

"My name's C-carlos" he managed, too agitated at this point to even be embarrassed by his stammering. "I'm with the UBCS. We were sent in to evacuate civilians, but everything went to hell. I was only looking for some food. I didn't know anyone else was here, I swear!"

"UBCS?" the woman repeated, not lowering the magnum. "Never heard of it."

"It's a PMC" Carlos explained, trying to put her at ease, so she didn't start blowing .44in holes in him. "We contract all over the globe. Mostly security, but occasionally full combat ops like this one."

"Contract? With who?" she demanded, her finger still on the trigger.

"We're affiliated with one of the local pharmaceutical companies. You may have heard of it. Umbrella-"

"Wrong answer" the woman replied, her eyes suddenly narrowing. Carlos saw her finger tighten on the trigger and realized he was about to die, his brain not moving fast enough even to process this. He saw a flash of brilliant light…

And felt the bullet whistle past his head. He heard a wet thud from behind, and turned to see a headless body lying sprawled on the floor.

"Umbrella did all this" the woman said coldly. "Last chance. Why are you _really_ here?"

"What?" Carlos stared at her in disbelief. "Lady, you're outta your mind. Why would Umbrella do something like this?"

"Don't fuck with me" the woman said. "Or I promise you you'll regret it. Not for very long, though. That I can promise you. Now tell me what Umbrella's goals are. Why did they release the virus? What's their game? Why are they doing this again?" she screamed, the revolver shaking in her hands.

"Lady, I don't know what you're talking ab-"

"Answer me!" she snarled, and for the second time Carlos thought he was about to die.

"I don't know!" Carlos shouted back, profoundly wishing he hadn't dropped the Sig now. Maybe he could've shot this crazy bitch-

"The fuck you don't!" she screamed. "You don't know about the Umbrella lab outside the city? The one where they were making monsters? The one where a bunch of my friends died? The one we just barely managed to get away from?"

"Look, you sound like you know more about this than me, okay?" Carlos snarled, finally just deciding to hell with it. "If you wanna shoot me, shoot me. Cuz I got nothing to tell you."

They stared at each other for a minute. Then, slowly, the woman lowered her magnum. She shook her head. "I guess you're telling the truth."

"You think?" Carlos said, irritably. "_Jesu Cristo_, lady, you were _this_ close to blowing my head off. And I'm somewhat attached to that!" He paused. "Just who are you, anyway?"

"Jill Valentine" she replied. "I am, or at least I _was_, an officer with the Special Tactics and Rescue Service."

"Oh, so you're with the RPD?" Carlos asked. "My men went through there yesterday. We got some help from another officer, a _niña_ named Rebecca. You know her?"

Jill's eyes actually lit up. "You were with Rebecca? When? Where? Is she okay?"

"Well, she was up until this morning. We got ambushed and everyone split up. I don't know what happened to her. Sorry." Carlos paused, then bent down for his handgun, which he replaced in its holster. "Now, if I can just find where you kicked my M4, I'll be on my way-"

"STARS!" a horrific voice snarled from outside.

"Shit!" Jill hissed, dropping down. Carlos followed her instinctively.

"What the hell was that?" he hissed.

"A present from your bosses" Jill replied. "We gotta get out of here."

"We? Lady, a second ago you were all set to blow my head off-"

"Look, outside is about nine feet of pure killing rage. So unless you want to get beaten to death by Frankenstein's uglier big brother, I suggest you come with me."

Carlos thought for a minute, but he could see the woman wasn't lying. More than that, he could see his M4 a few feet away. Quickly he darted over and grabbed it.

"Follow me" said Jill.

(MAT)

Mat was keeping his flashlight moving constantly, illuminating as much of the darkening streets as he could. It was about six thirty at night, but the sun had long since dropped beyond the smoky sky. As such, he needed to be extra vigilant. There were all sorts of places for nasty things to lie in wait…

Mat heard a strange sound from above and behind him. Odd, like little suction cups being pulled off a wall. And a heavy, raspy breathing sound…He spun around, his flashlight trained on the source of the noise, to find one of the pink monsters from the RPD building perched on the wall. Mat didn't even hesitate, firing a burst into the monster. Its slender body shuddered under the multiple impacts, the P90's bullets tearing completely through it. With a scream it fell off the wall and dropped onto the hood of a car, where it thrashed about, banging on the metal and crying in anguished agony. Mat stepped forward and shot it twice with the Colt, making sure the thing stopped moving.

Then Mat heard a deep-throated roar from his left side. Whirling around, he saw a big, four-legged shape standing in the middle of the road. Already knowing what he'd see, Mat shined the light at it anyway, revealing the hideously disfigured form of an Africa lion, is once proud mane tattered and ripped, its flanks bloodied, its teeth dripping with blood.

"Oh, son of a bitch" he whined, as the great undead cat let out a snarl and began to run toward him.

Mat zigzagged, realizing this was an animal that routinely ran down wild gazelles. Then it occurred to him that this animal must've come from the zoo, where it probably _didn't_ get all that much exercise. That meant he could probably outpace it for a little bit, at least.

He past a parked car, hearing the monster lion jump on the roof, the vehicle's windows shattering at once at the sudden weight. He tucked the P90 closer to his chest, darting under an awning. He heard the lion land on top, its claws tearing through the fabric as it ran.

Mat's eyes darted around for a place to duck inside and force the thing to slow down. He saw the open storefront of a pet shop and angled in that direction, the lion loping along behind him. With a last burst of speed, Mat lunged forward, raising his hands over his face as he jumped through the big front window. Landing, he rolled onto his back and scrambled away as the lion bound inside.

Mat brought up the P90 and held down the trigger, a single, long, panicky burst into the monster. The lion snarled, then yelped in pain, then reared up on its haunches, its body swaying in force of the bullets. Then, with a brief snort, it dropped to the ground.

Mat lay on his back for a moment, the P90 resting on his chest, its barrel still smoking as he tried to catch his breath.

After a few minutes, he decided he was ready to get going. Turning, he found himself face to face with an extremely angry, extremely dead husky, its fangs drawn back in an evil snarl. It snapped at him, its jaws closing just an inch from his face.

"Gah!" he exclaimed, scrambling back and drawing the Colt. He fired twice, his second shot catching the dog in the eye and dropping it without another sound.

It was then Mat realized the animal was in a pin, and couldn't have gotten to him anyway. As he cursed himself for wasting bullets, he realized he could hear another sound: someone breathing heavily around the corner. Cautiously, Mat his way in that direction, P90 at the ready.

(JILL)

The kitchen's oven door was open, as was the back door. Gas filtered into the enclosed space, filling the air with a noxious stench. Jill breathed through her mouth and tried to ignore it, hoping the monster (Mat had said something about Nemesis, but Jill was having a hard time seeing it as anything other than the Son of a Bitch Who Won't Die) didn't have much of a nose.

Carlos was crouched behind her, his M4 at the ready, a nervous look on his face. She hadn't had time to explain the monster to him before it had come knocking on their door. She hoped it wouldn't be necessary in any case. The thing was big, ugly, and clearly hostile. That ought to be enough for _anyone_, even if they were dumb enough to work for Umbrella.

She could hear the Tyrant as it crunched its way through the dining room, its heavy boots pulverizing the wooden floors as it used whatever sixth sense it had to find her. Jill wasn't sure why the thing had come after her; from what Mat said it had been after him last night, but maybe it had decided she was a more worthwhile target.

_Lucky me_ she thought.

The monster paused just outside the kitchen, its footsteps suddenly stopping, as if it sensed a trap. Jill could almost _feel_ its eye on her through the wall, as if it could actually see her.

"Come on, come on" she muttered quietly, her hand gripping the Samurai Edge tightly enough to whiten her knuckles.

One minute the monster was in the dinning room, and the next it was in the kitchen, having slammed its shoulder _through _the wall.

"Holy shit!" Jill exclaimed. Carlos shouted something in what sounded to Jill like Portuguese, raising his carbine to fire at the monster. Nemesis looked over at him in what might have been annoyance, then swatted him into a wall. He landed with a groan.

Jill ducked underneath the monster's huge paw as it grabbed for her, kicking herself off its leg and skidding along the floor on her backside. "Carlos, are you with us?" she shouted, sparing a glance at the staggered mercenary. He nodded groggily, but didn't look up.

"Get to the door!" Jill shouted, backing up, her handgun up in a two-handed grip. The Tyrant advanced on her, glaring down at her with its single, milky eye, its lipless mouth skimmed back over its teeth.

"STARS" it growled, looming over her shoulder.

"Yeah, yeah" Jill replied, her finger squeezing the trigger. "Blow me."

The ignition of the gas was a bit more sudden than Jill had expected. She'd figured she'd have enough time to run. Instead she found herself blown clear of the diner entirely, her body slightly singed. Of the Nemesis, she saw no trace, nor could she see much left of the building itself. As for Carlos-

"Holy _shit_, lady" he said, offering her a hand up. "That was some intense-"

ARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGHHHH HHH!

Both of their heads whipped around to see the lone figure of the monster, rising phoenix-like out of the ashes of the diner.

"No way" Jill said, shaking her head in disbelief. "No way." She turned to Carlos. "We aren't going to win like this. C'mon, let's get moving!"

Without another word, they turned and ran, not looking back as the Nemesis began to follow.

(MAT)

The coughing sound was getting stronger, and Mat realized now he wasn't dealing with an infected, but a living person, and further one who was seriously hurt.

"W-who's there?" a shaky voice called out from the darkness.

"RPD" Mat called back, quietly. "Who are you?"  
"FBI" was the unexpected reply.

Mat crept closer and found a man lying on his back, his stomach a bloody mass of torn and twisted gore. "God…" he said softly. "Who are you?"

"Norton. Derek…Norton. I was…Special Agent…sent to help with the…" he coughed, loudly and painfully, "forest murders…Who…you?"

"Mat Dawson" he replied, kneeling down beside the man. He gasped when he got a good look at the man.

"Pretty…bad…isn't it?" Norton managed, but Mat was more distracted by who the man resembled. Despite all the gore, he was a dead ringer for Billy Coen.

"I'm gonna tell you straight" Mat said, figuring the man wouldn't want to be lied to. "I can't do anything to help you? But is there anything I can do for you?"

The man coughed again, then reached into his pocket and removed his wallet. "Get this…to…my wife. Tell…tell her…I died…doing my job. Okay?"

Mat took the wallet, noting it was of the flip open variety, Norton's badge prominently displayed inside. "Yeah, I'll do that. Now, what did this to you?"

"Soldiers" the man replied. "Bad…people…don't know who…"

Mat wanted to ask more, but Norton shuddered and stopped breathing. Mat stared down at the dead man for a minute, then looked at the badge in his hand. Slowly he stood up, sliding the badge into his pocket. He still had a long way to go.

**END OF PART 2**


	23. Interlude 2: Wheels in Motion

Interlude 2:

Wheels in Motion

The room was dark, the better to see the large screens on the far wall. The long table in the center wasn't oriented to make viewing the screens easy, but then, the images weren't pretty.

One was a satellite image of an A-10 Warthog's crash site. The plane's wreckage was still burning, its broken body lying in the middle of a school courtyard like a dead bird. No one was sure what had shot it down, but that was the only explanation. Such aircraft didn't just fall out of the sky of their own accord. The pilot's family would have to be notified, although that was something for the Air Force to worry about. The men at this table had a narrower focus.

Another screen was a view of City Hall. This one was an unmanned drone circling the area, equipped with thermal imaging cameras. It had witnessed a pitched gun battle between the police and an unknown group of hostiles. It was time stamped for four hours earlier. It was cued up and rewound itself, constantly replaying.

The third screen showed an earlier engagement, between another group of police and another (or possibly the same) unknown party. This one was also cued up.

"It's too risky" said one of the men. He was a political appointment from the current administration, an individual whose ties to this mess ought to have gotten him thrown out, at the very least. Treason accusations were already being discussed. This was, after all, a war. Even if not all the combatants knew it as such.

"Look at that" said another man, this one a five year veteran of SOCOM. He gestured toward the screen, where a giant was smashing its way through a group of police with what looked like a handheld minigun. "We've wasted enough time. All our best estimates were wrong. What we thought was still ten years away is happening right here, right _now_. And it's not happening in Baghdad. It's happening here, in our own country, in the middle of one of our own god dammed cities! And the whole thing is live on TV."

Several of the screens were pirated feeds from news networks. The best coverage was coming in, surprisingly, from Fox, whose local affiliate just happened to have been fortunate enough to be outside the city when everything went down. She'd grabbed her camera crew and headed for one of the roadblocks the Colorado National Guard had set up, making her, if not the first reporter on the scene, then at least the longest lived. National Broadcast Company and Cable News Network had managed to insert their own reporters onto the scene as well, and there were now even reporters being allowed into the extraction zone set up downtown. Now everyone in the world could watch as Raccoon City tore itself apart.

And that was what it boiled down to. The US government had known Umbrella was up to no good for several years. The Company had the government penetrated, but the Federal Bureau of Investigation and Central Intelligence Agency both remained relatively clean (Congress was another matter). What was even better, the President Pro Tempore of the Senate (third in line of Presidential Succession) knew of this, and was willing to back the play of the men in this room, at least until the next elections in 2000. Rumor had it the current Vice President planned his own bid for highest office. The men around this table intended to make sure this didn't happen.

Enough was enough.

Umbrella had fucked up one too many times. It was that simple. While the government could look the other way as long as Umbrella was turning out products like Aquacure without proper FDA tests (the First Aid Sprays had been virtual lifesavers in both DESERT STORM and GOTHIC SERPENT, with a 100% survivability rate among all administered cases), things had just gone too far. Something had to be done. Umbrella was going down.

In the end, it came down to a vote. Only the political appointee abstained. His own career would be over with the President's, once everything came out, but he still wouldn't put his name in favor of the company that had given him its patronage.

The man at the head of the table, the current Director, Central Intelligence, picked up a phone next to his chair. His eyes drifted over to watch the battle that had raged earlier in City Hall, as a giant pulverized the head of some poor cop.

"The mission is a go" he said calmly, careful not to say too much, even though this was an STU, and therefore the most secure form of government communication. Still, he was giving marching orders to a unit that didn't exist, whose name wasn't even written down, that was so black as to be completely invisible, and so the forms had to be observed. "Send in ECHO."

Several hundred miles away, at Special Operations Command in Florida, soldiers began to board transport aircraft for the long flight to Denver. From there they'd be married up with heavier equipment (in this case, Nighthawks, the stealth variant of the Army's venerable Blackhawk transport chopper) and deployed into the city. While they were under orders to render assistance to any survivors they found, their mission's objectives were much more specific.

And so it began.


End file.
